The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (39 page)

49

Kat was surfacing from a deep sleep when the commotion of voices reached her. Thanks to being overserved the night before, she took a few seconds to realize where she was. Opening her eyes slowly, she quickly shut them again as bright sunlight streamed through the porthole directly into her face.

Her body was reminding her of what had occurred just a few hours before. She squeezed her legs together as a warm sensation spread through her. It felt good. It was time.

She was jolted back to awareness by a loud knocking. Wrapping her housecoat around her, she opened her door to find Tim, the captain, with a worried expression.

“I’m sorry. Can you come up on deck, madam?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Just get dressed and come up, please.”

In a few minutes, Katherine climbed the stairs. Nick was standing at the end of the gangplank having a loud conversation with two police officers. A German shepherd on a lead stood beside one of them, looking strong and vigilant.

She watched Nick throw his hands up in exasperation and step aside as the officers and dog walked onto the boat.

“Kat, I’m sorry about this, but the
gendarmes
need to search the boat. Come and sit in the café across the street with me until they’re finished.”

“I’m just going to get my purse.”

One of the officers stopped her, took her arm, and shook his head. Nick stepped in and after much arguing, Katherine was allowed to get her purse, which was then thoroughly examined by the officers and sniffed by the dog before they returned it to her—minus her passport.

Nick took her hand as they walked across the street.

Over coffee, he told her he had gotten involved with some of the “wrong people” several months before. He claimed he hadn’t known they were part of a group running drugs out along the coast. After surviving a number of wild parties and observing some clandestine behavior, he suspected what was going on and actually went to England for two months in an attempt to break the connection.

“You know, they weren’t the skuzzy types you might imagine. They were an educated, refined, and good-looking bunch. I had a great time with them until I began to see beyond the surface. There were a few times when it became quite dangerous, and I was an idiot not to get out faster than I did.”

Obviously his name and boat information were still in the police computer. They made it clear they did not want him docked in their jurisdiction and were not going to let him leave until the boat had been checked thoroughly. He was also going to accompany them to the
gendarmerie
to deal with the inevitable bureaucratic paperwork.

“I swear I’m not involved with any of that shit in any way. I’m confident we’ll be able to leave soon. I’m really sorry we haven’t had time to explore the village.”

Katherine just shook her head and looked at him. “Don’t worry about that, Nick. This is terrible. I’ll feel better when I have my passport back.”

He nodded, repeating gruffly, “I’m very sorry.”

Following the officers off the boat some time later, Tim and Twig told Nick they were going to take a stroll through the village while he went to the station. Nick introduced them properly to Katherine, and they invited her to join them.

In spite of feeling fragile from her hangover, she found the hour wandering through the atmospheric old town to be a helpful distraction from the current unpleasantness. The couple knew the village well and regaled Kat with all manner of inside stories.

Tim and Twig were a cool couple with fascinating stories to tell of the years Tim had freelanced as a captain on the megayachts. Twig would go along as a cook or steward when the post was available. They had sailed the world, observing lifestyles most people could not even imagine. Twig suggested she and Katherine get together back in Antibes for some girl time. It was a pleasant interlude, but an undercurrent of forced casualness prevailed, causing Kat to wonder if there was more to the altercation with the police than Nick was letting on.

Nick called Tim from the
gendarmerie
to say the police wanted to speak with Katherine and they should report there immediately.

After a quick five-minute walk, Katherine was a bundle of nerves as she was gruffly ordered into a small room containing a desk and two chairs. Her lifetime of being a completely law-abiding, rule-following citizen had not prepared her for this type of experience. Knowing she had nothing to hide did nothing to relieve her instant anxiety. The questions were routine and straightforward, the interrogator speaking English with very little accent, yet Katherine felt threatened.

Tapping his hand with Katherine’s passport, he asked, “Where are you from, Madame Price? Where are you living in France? Why are you there? How do you know Monsieur Nicholas? When are you leaving France?”

Apparently satisfied with her responses, after what felt like an agonizingly long pause, the officer handed her passport back to her.

“Be very careful, Madame Price, who you choose as your friends,” he admonished with a stern look.

Feeling as though she had done something wrong, Katherine nodded slightly, her mouth locked in a tight line. Making a hasty exit, she hoped her fear did not show.

Back at the bar by the harbor, Nick ordered a beer. The thought of alcohol made Kat feel nauseous after her overindulgence, combined with the episode with the police.

Observing an exchange between Nick and Tim, she was surprised by Nick’s uncharacteristic anxiety. Something wasn’t quite right. Kat felt a sense of unease with the way the men looked at each other.

The voyage back seemed to take forever. Nick was in a fury over the incident and showed a side Katherine had never seen. He was constantly on his phone and on several occasions ended the conversations yelling at the top of his lungs.

Katherine tucked herself into a lounge chair on the upper deck by the hot tub and took out her Kindle. Concentration was impossible. Her simple, straightforward life in France momentarily seemed complicated.

Or is it really?
she wondered.

What’s going on now is Nick’s problem, not mine. Just because we had sex last night—and that’s exactly what it was, sex—doesn’t change things. A fling is a frickin’ fling, to quote Molly
.
I just have to get my head around that.

She smiled, contemplating how Molly’s unique expressions of her life philosophy could be right on the mark. It also dawned on her how open she was, in her current single state, to actually listening to what Molly had to say. “Molly the Moaner,” James had called her, but Katherine could see now that was a complete misnomer.

Watching Nick move around the boat with his Blackberry pasted to his head, she had no trouble telling herself she was not falling in love with him. He was basically a nice guy, attractive, living in a completely different reality than most, and a friendship with him was all there needed to be.

Or maybe not, after this experience. This is a bit too scary for me.
His lifestyle was not for her. She had partied in a champagne fog at La Voile Rouge, but if she never did that again, it would be too soon.
Last night was alcohol-fueled lust, pure and simple, but it did feel good.

Feeling another aftershock from the fiery climax of their brief frenzy, she allowed the bliss to wash through her, momentarily erasing the confrontation with the police.

Looking out across the calm sea, as Saint-Tropez faded into the horizon, she had an epiphany of sorts about what really mattered in her life at this point: freedom to be herself, do as she pleased, and be content with her choices. Because of the controlled, seemingly safe world in which she had lived until the past year, she had always maintained a certain skepticism about the unfamiliar.

I can’t continue to blame James for that. I obviously bought into his way of doing things, for whatever reason.

In the space of mere months, she had thrown herself headfirst into the unfamiliar and discovered it to be a wonderful place.

Carrying her bag, Nick walked Katherine back to her place. He was still steaming and indicated he was going to contact his lawyer and get the harassment cleared up.

“I can’t have this situation hanging over my head indefinitely. It’s annoying, embarrassing, and could possibly get quite complicated for no good reason. I’ve got to see my lawyer and get to the bottom of it.”

Katherine nodded.

Taking her face in his hands, Nick kissed her gently. “What happened between us last night was beautiful—in its own crazy way. I’m sorry I fell asleep. Christ, am I sorry about that!”

Katherine started to speak, but he put his fingers to her lips.

“Shhh, let me finish. I’m sorry our trip had to end as it did, and I hope I can make it up to you. I’ll call you this evening and we can make some plans.”

“Nick, I’m hungover and need to go to bed this minute. Come for breakfast tomorrow, or brunch, lunch, whatever. Okay?”

He called early the next morning, saying he had some unexpected business he needed to address immediately and was flying to London that afternoon for a few days.

“I’m so sorry, Kat. Man! I seem to be doing a lot of apologizing all of a sudden! I’ll call you from London, and I’ll miss you.”

Katherine wasn’t so sure she would miss him. She felt a pang of guilt over her loss of control that weekend. On the other hand, she was feeling more alive and in tune with her body than she had in years.

50

Kat was on Skype with Molly late Thursday night, dinnertime in Toronto. They had already discussed the Saint-Trop weekend in detail a few days earlier.

“I’m glad you finally broke through and had a fling, Katski. Don’t worry about how it all went down. Obviously the police realized you were an innocent bystander.”

Katherine admitted wrestling with some guilty feelings. “I just keep reminding myself I’m not sixteen years old and to get over it, and basically I am over it. And you’re right—it did feel good! But that business with the
gendarmes
did cast a definite pall over everything else.”

She remarked that she had a good time hanging out mainly in women’s company this week without anything that looked or felt like a date on her calendar.

“Of course, I’ve spent time with Philippe cycling and at the market, but that’s just kind of been our normal stuff. We haven’t gone to dinner or anything this week. I think he’s holding back a bit because we’ll be going to Joy’s for the weekend. He’s really careful about not appearing overbearing, and I like that.”

“Yeah,” Molly agreed. “Nothing is going to happen there anyway from all you have said.”

“For sure,” Katherine agreed. “There’s no pressure.”

“Who would ever have guessed there was so much that was actually really frickin’ interesting to learn about cheese?” Molly asked. “That just cracks me up!”

Nick had been in London all week, and Kat had not found his absence an issue. In fact, she liked having her life entirely back to just her choices again.

She had kept the week low-key. On Monday evening she had her weekly bridge lesson with seven women whose company she was beginning to enjoy very much, as well as a dour, strict teacher.

Tuesday morning brought a lesson on Roquefort and intriguing details of the centuries-old caves in which it ripens. Philippe knew of Kat’s weekend trip on Nick’s boat and asked, in a reserved voice, if she had enjoyed visiting Saint-Trop. Katherine hoped he didn’t notice her face reddening. “It’s a beautiful setting and town, but not my kind of place,” she replied before quickly returning the chat to cheese. She wondered if she imagined a more relaxed tone in his voice after her unenthusiastic comment about the weekend.

Cycling that evening was followed by a cold beer with the group, including Philippe, who walked her home. As they parted, they confirmed the details about the departure for Joy’s on Friday.

Wednesday was her international women’s hiking and French conversation group. During the half-hour train ride along the coast, Katherine thought how her life was feeling full.
Living on your own doesn’t mean you have to be lonely
, she mused almost with surprise.

For the past two weeks, she had been taking an afternoon cooking course in town on Thursdays. There were two more to go, and she was feeling inspired to cook again, but now a Mediterranean-style cuisine.

Ever since Molly’s departure, practically every day began with an early-morning yoga session, no later than seven, followed by her walk around the village. Her camera was stashed in her
panier
, along with her dictionary. The number of shots she took had certainly lessened, but inevitably something new would catch her eye: angles, light, shadows, fine details that only the passage of hundreds of years could create.

The thrill Kat experienced from these quiet walks, with the village just beginning to come to life, never diminished. In the almost empty maze of narrow cobbled streets, the centuries seemed to unravel.

Even though this historic old village is a popular tourist destination now, if you free your mind and stop to listen, you can still hear echoes of its long and storied past.

After making her market purchases, she would stop in at a nearby
tabac
and pick up the morning edition of
Nice-Matin
. With her trusty dictionary close at hand, reading the newspaper from cover to cover was her daily French lesson, along with language podcasts on her iPod.

The
boulangerie
lineup, tastings in the wine shop, the curmudgeonly waiter at her favorite café, chats with the delightful owner of the English bookstore—all were feeling so right; like it was the way her life was supposed to be. She felt surprisingly connected to the rhythm of the routine she was establishing.
I’m doing things for me—no one else.

Driving up to Sainte-Mathilde Friday evening, Katherine and Philippe had almost reached Joy’s house when she felt her cell vibrate yet again. Purposely silencing the ring before she got into the car, she checked and saw it was Nick calling and chose to ignore it.

“I was not making jokes when I told you they will put you to work! The grapes are hanging in heavy clusters, and
le ban de vendanges
has officially been declared. We’ll be clipping the stems from dawn to dusk with a big
fête
in between!”

“Joy advised me to bring old, sturdy shoes,” said Katherine, “and she warned me it was hard work—and good fun. Tell me more about the traditions.”

“
La vendange
goes back to the Middle Ages, when the local
seigneur
would declare conditions were right for the harvest and
le ban
, the proclamation, would be posted in the village or town square. I assure you in these past weeks there has been much tasting, testing, and checking.
La météo
—forecast of weather—has been closely watched and now, while the sun is shining, the time is right.”

Talking about the harvest led them to talk about the importance of traditions in communities and cultures and how such customs were disappearing in today’s world. Philippe expressed his pleasure at having these established rituals passed on from generation to generation.

“It’s the recognition and celebration of traditions that help each generation remember where they came from. They help ground us even as we are making our own way in life. I believe they really matter, but I know many people don’t.”

“I feel the same way,” Katherine said. She described the Hungarian celebrations her parents taught her and what a meaningful place they held in her heart. “In North America, apart from our aboriginal people, the traditions all come from other places in the world. What appeals to me in Europe is how each country’s traditions have been established for centuries and continue to be passed down.”

The conversation became increasingly personal as each expressed how good it was to create your own family rituals. Philippe spoke haltingly about his family life before his wife became ill. Katherine spoke of her childhood rituals with her parents and was reminded there were few such memories from her marriage.

Their exchanges lightened, and soon Kat was in stitches as he described other aspects of life in France from a native’s perspective. Philippe had an eye for small details of human behavior and a way of interpreting them in an entertaining fashion.

Before they knew it, Pico was prancing around by the car door, waiting to greet them.

Henri and Sylvie were manning the front terrace. “
Bienvenue!
We are the official outdoor greeters, along with Picasso,” they said with a smile as Antoine appeared with a tray of filled wineglasses, “and we are particularly thrilled to welcome the two of you!”

The atmosphere in the
manoir
was friendly and festive. The grand entrance hall was filled with people, wineglasses in hand.

“At
la vendange
, no one would consider to drink anything else,” Philippe whispered to Kat.

Saying he would bring their bags in later, he was immediately swallowed into the crowd of old friends and family, while Mirella warmly took charge of Katherine.

“We are so thrilled you are here,
ma chère
! Of course you know several people here now, and let me introduce you to the others. Sadly you have missed my husband again! He has made a promise we will come south specifically so he can meet you the next time he is home!”

Again, Katherine felt welcome and comfortable as she was drawn into the lively chatter in the room.

Joy was bustling around making certain everything was going as planned, and after a quick happy embrace with Kat, assured her they would have time for a good visit later that evening. “I’m so interested to hear how you find life on the coast and in Antibes in particular.”

Kat’s smile revealed her delight when François appeared at her side, his balance assisted only by an ornately carved walking stick. He was feeling much improved since he had arrived back in the village, he told her. They found two chairs and sat chatting at length before he said he must call it a night.

“I only came to see you. I’ve decided I’m too much of an old man for such grand parties, and I’m very comfortable with that. Promise me you will come to visit again so I might show you my humble abode that is bringing me so much peace.”

“I promise,” Katherine vowed, appreciating even more the company of this wise man.

Finally having a moment when she could politely do so, Kat went upstairs to the ladies’ room. On her way back down the grand staircase leading into the party area, she happened to catch sight of a very attractive young woman who made her way across the room and swept Philippe into a tight embrace. It was not the French way to greet someone, and Kat was taken by surprise when Philippe appeared to respond with equal pleasure, covering the young woman’s face with kisses. Several people standing near them were applauding and smiling warmly.

Feeling a response she could only identify as jealousy, Katherine stopped on the stairs to watch.

Speaking with great animation, Philippe embraced the woman several more times as many people stepped up to kiss her cheeks and exchange greetings.

Obviously I haven’t known everything about him, but why am I reacting like this?
she wondered, surprised at the strength of her emotion.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a hand on her elbow. Joy introduced her to some old friends, and Katherine attempted to stay engaged in conversation. The couple had visited Toronto and were delighted to speak about their experience with someone who knew the city. Struggling to look like she cared about the chat, she desperately wanted to turn around to see if Philippe was still with the beauty. She felt warm and slightly nauseous.

After what felt like much longer than it actually was, she excused herself and turned to see if she could find a way to go to her room. The sudden urge to remove herself from the presence of Philippe and any young woman was overwhelming.

Looking around the great hall, his eyes bright and face flushed, Philippe noticed Katherine on the stairs, waved, and made his way toward her, bringing the woman with him, his arm comfortably around her shoulder.

Katherine jolted herself out of the moment, walking to the bottom of the stairs with a forced smile.

Philippe deftly had the two women face to face. “Adorée, please meet Katherine Price from Canada.”

With a warm look back at Philippe and a bright smile, the beautiful young woman took Katherine’s awkwardly outstretched hand to shake.