The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (43 page)

“And, nothing—my point exactly!”

“Andie, dear Andie, I love it here, as you can see. I’m sure I will return on another exchange or whatever, but the fact is that I came for three months and my exchange is almost over. It’s time to get back to reality. I need to earn some money again, for starters.”

Andrea looked at her and smiled. “Your mother would have loved to see what you’re doing and how you’re doing.”

Nodding, Kat told her how much Elisabeth had been in her thoughts during the two exchanges, especially this one with her visit to the Ukraine. “If nothing else, that trip with Andrew—brief as it turned out to be—brought her words back to me loud and clear. I do believe I have lived this trip waking up every day appreciating what a gift it is.”

“Yup,” said Andrea, “an attitude of gratitude is what it’s all about.”

The talk turned to reminiscences of childhood days and the long history they shared.

“I wish we could stay here longer! But we have another week left in our Austrian exchange, and then it’s back to the farm for us. We’ll only be back a week or so, and then you’ll be home.”

Saying good-bye at the airport was easy, since they knew they would see each other in just a few weeks.

Shaking his hand, Terrence couldn’t stop exclaiming how their visit had been unforgettable, and they both thanked Philippe sincerely for all he had done.

Philippe stepped forward to
bise
Andrea.

“I do believe that’s my favorite French custom,” she announced.

54

From the airport it was just minutes to the old town. Parking in the underground garage below Cours Saleya, the pink-toned ornate
belle époque
opera house was a block away.

Puccini’s
La Bohème
was opening the season, and Katherine was excited to hear it. James had hated opera, saying the voices spoiled the sound of the orchestra.

Settling into elegant chairs in a small balcony framed with silken drapes, the red and gold decor evoked images of a golden age. The costumes, sets, and performances—especially Mimi’s classic death scene—did not disappoint.

This was the first time they had been alone since the night they were in each other’s arms at the beach. Both were aware of the intense connection between them whenever they inadvertently brushed against each other.

Partway through the second act, during a particularly moving aria, Philippe took Katherine’s hand and kissed it before tucking it into his for the remainder of the performance.

Afterward they walked hand in hand to the car, having decided to have a nightcap back in Antibes. The night was unusually warm and muggy as September, and now October, were turning out to be the hottest on record.

“Let’s go and sit on my little beach,” Katherine suggested, assuming ownership of La Gravette, as they finished their drinks at La César Café.

“It will be cooler there, for certain. I have towels in the car, so I’ll get them as we pass by.”

“I guess everyone who lives in this part of the world is prepared for a dip in the Med at any time.”

“Exactement!”

Slipping their shoes off, they walked barefoot in the sand. Philippe spread the large towels close to the water’s edge. The moon was a mere sliver, allowing the darkness to wrap around them. It was still hot, even by the sea.

Katherine began wading, holding up her dress and struggling to maintain her balance on the pebbled bottom. Philippe rolled up his slacks to join her. Suddenly she lost her footing, and Philippe quickly reached to help her. Pulling her up by her hands, he slipped in the shallow water as well, and they both sat laughing.

“Well,” she said, “we might as well go for a swim now.” Pulling off her simple linen sheath, now soaking, Katherine threw it onto the sand before diving underwater toward the center of the cove. Philippe stripped off his shirt and trousers, tossing them on a towel before he followed.

The calm sea was refreshing as they swam to the large rocks that formed a breakwater at the mouth of the cove. Treading water and floating on their backs, they studied the night sky, picking out constellations and outdoing each other as they made some up.

Soft lighting fell across the water from some of the luxury yachts anchored nearby, and a few small fishing boats out for a night catch could be seen, red rigging lights bobbing in the distance.

When their feet could touch bottom, Philippe pulled Katherine into his arms, and they made love with their lips. Long, slow kisses that were at the same time, tender, romantic, intense. Katherine’s heart raced as the seductive kisses seemed to touch her soul.

Something prevented her from pulling him out of the water and onto the towels to make love right there.

She recognized what was stopping her. Fear. Falling in love was not on her agenda, but what she was feeling did not fit into the category of a fling.

Catching their breath as they stumbled back onto the sand, Philippe wrapped a towel around Katherine’s wet body and another around his.

Scooping up their clothes, he took her hand and they ran back to the house, trying not to make too much noise with their laughter.

“Let’s get the salt water off,” he said, and Kat led him to the shower on the guest-room level. She leaned in to turn on the water and turned back to where he was standing. Undoing her towel, all resolve vanished. She stripped off her soaking-wet underwear and stepped into the stall, leaving the door open and not taking her eyes from him.

Philippe dropped his towel to the floor and joined her.

Naked, they pressed together as the warm water washed over them. Reaching for the soap, he ran it over her neck, her back, her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her stomach, and on down. His lips followed, kissing her body as the soap ran off.

Katherine did the same, her fears banished by the sheer intensity of the moment. A fire burned up her limbs and into her very core. Their lips found each other again.

No words were spoken as Philippe picked her up and carried her to the bed. Pulling back the duvet, he laid Katherine softly on the bed. Their wet bodies fused as she wrapped her legs around him. Nothing existed but the sensation of being loved.

Taking their sweet time, the lovemaking was cautious at first—a slow sensual symphony as she moaned, softly urging him on. Philippe gently nibbled her ear and neck. Discovering how to excite each other, there was no rush to reach the peak of that pleasure . . .
le plaisir
.

His touch felt like he was reading her body by braille, interpreting the messages it was telling him. His fingertips traced lightly at first before his strong hands pressed slowly up to her face and into her hair.

Looking into each other’s eyes, Katherine had only one thought as she gasped with anticipation.
Desire—this truly is desire.

Touching him, Kat was drowning in the response of her hands on his smooth skin, his strong body, his tight buttocks.

Giving themselves to each other with total abandon, desire drifted from lingering rapture to urgent hunger and back again through the night, until finally they lay entangled in each other.

His warm tears mingled with hers as the realization surfaced of all they were sharing, still without words. His hands brushed her hair. Her fingertips gently wiped his tears as he kissed hers away. Then they slept.

Katherine awoke alone. She had been carefully covered with a light sheet and lay with the sun streaming in, feeling fulfilled and confused.

What the hell have I done?

But she knew what she had done. What they had done. The question was, what would they do with it now?

Stretching slowly, she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the lingering memory of their lovemaking. A light smile played across her face.
It’s still there. I’m not too old. That spark of excitement that ignited the fire . . .
She felt her body move sensuously into the sheet as she recalled the bursts of pure pleasure that had surged right to her toes . . .
time after time . . .

She thought about Andrea’s words at the airport, about not having to go home.

Trust Andrea to see past what is holding me back. She’s so calm and logical and willing to take risks. Everything she said is what I feel but can’t give myself permission to accept.

Philippe appeared in the doorway with fresh croissants. She could see he had even gone to Choopy’s to pick up her special caffe mocha.

Wearing a slightly abashed expression, he placed the tray on a side table and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking Katherine’s hand, he kissed it lightly on the back and the palm. With the back of her other hand, she softly rubbed the light stubble on his cheek before pulling him to her for a brief but tender kiss.

“It was a beautiful night,” he murmured, his eyes and voice full of emotion. He spoke slowly, as if hearing the echo of each word and confirming his voice was expressing what his heart was feeling. “You are a most special woman, Katherine. I never thought I would meet someone like you.”

She put her fingers to his lips, as if afraid of what he might say next, while she responded in close to a whisper, “It was so beautiful. Oh yes, it was. And you are special to me too. We have so much to think about, so much to work through—in our hearts, in our heads.”

Philippe nodded. “
Oui, c’est vrai
. It’s true . . .”

“I don’t want this to change the friendship we share. I’m leaving in just over two weeks—that’s the reality here. Can we just keep going and see where this takes us?”

“I want you to know I have not been with anyone since Geneviève. It’s important to me that you know this. You know there is nothing to worry about. We did not take precautions . . .”

Kat had not even considered that aspect, she realized with an internal admonition, and appreciated his concern that she might worry.

She assured him that he too had nothing to fear.

“It’s okay. Let’s not talk about it anymore now. Let’s just be.”

“
Oui
. . . let’s just be.”

He brought her a robe that was hanging by the shower. “I’ll take the tray to the rooftop and we can have a quick bite.
Désolé
, I must get back to work, but I will come back after we close up—if you like.”

“Of course I would like that.”

As she reached for the robe, their hands touched. It took only a second for Katherine to pull him to her, wordlessly stripping off his T-shirt as he unzipped his jeans and kicked them aside. Their kisses were strong and fiery. Quickly he straddled her and felt her hips rise to meet him as they both groaned with pleasure. He hungrily kissed her neck, her hair. Katherine felt a hot streak course deep into her pelvis and she pushed him back, this time climbing on top of him.

All reserve was gone. She felt strong, sexy, desired, knowing what she wanted to give and to get.

Later, Philippe held her face for a long time as they lay together. Then he drew it to him. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, covering her cheeks, her nose, and her forehead with small kisses. “You are such a gift.”

Breakfast could wait.

55

He did come back after work. Katherine had been counting the minutes.

“You have never seen where I live, Katherine. Did you not think it odd that I never invited you to my place?”

“To be honest, I never really thought about it because we were always going off to somewhere interesting or out of town. But now that you mention it, where do you live, anyway?”

“Two places,” he answered. “Let’s go on our bikes.”

The first ride was not far: along the ramparts, past the anthropological museum with its impressive display of artifacts and the park where afternoon games of
boules
are played, to Rue Albert Premier.

They stopped in front of an elegant white early-twentieth-century apartment building, locked their bikes, and climbed an elegant staircase to the third floor.

He showed Katherine around a spacious, comfortably furnished four-bedroom apartment with a large terrace. “This is where my parents lived when they were elderly, and Adorée and I moved in here after we lost Genevi
è
ve. This is what Adorée calls home.”

Back on their bikes, they cycled along the road bordering the sea, past Pointe Bacon, and then turned uphill onto the Cap d’Antibes. Large estates adjoined lots with smaller simple homes and then there was everything in between. Many properties were hidden by tall hedges, and at one such lot, they stopped before a locked gate.

Opening the gate, they rode their bikes down a long dirt lane, apparently infrequently used as grass and wildflowers grew tall in the middle. Overgrown flowering shrubs and bushes tumbled into their path and brushed against them before they arrived at a rambling villa, partially in disrepair.

“This property has been in my family since before the Revolution. Originally part of a much larger piece of land, it was an orchard and farm for over one hundred years. The orchard was eventually sold to several other families who built homes. My great-grandfather built this house and kept a small farm garden. The house was added to over the decades. That’s why it rambles as it does.”

“It’s such a beautiful property—and the view! How did it come to be abandoned?”

“France has some archaic inheritance laws. After my grandfather died, my uncles fought over it and tied up the case in the courts for the rest of their lives. How smart was that?”

Katherine shook her head. “I’ve read about situations like that in novels but never imagined it was that bad.”

“About ten years ago, everything was finally resolved and the property passed to me. Genevi
è
ve and I had plans to fix it up and open a small inn. We had just begun to clear the overgrowth and restore the house when she became ill.”

Katherine put her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if it’s painful.”

He took her hand, pressing it to his lips.

I could get used to this
.

“It’s painful, but I do want to talk about it. You make me want to talk about things I haven’t mentioned in years.”

The house had an intricate alarm system; he explained squatters could be a problem in the area.

He continued to tell her about his hopes for the hauntingly beautiful house and property as he carefully led her through areas where beams had fallen and walls crumbled.

“After I met you in Provence, you were so full of life, so in love with France. You got me thinking. I began to come back here and slowly do work. You see—you inspired me.”

“And I had no idea.”

The kitchen area was barely useable, and in one corner there was a cot.

“I sometimes stay here when I’m working on the property. Now I want to be here again.”

They walked out through fragile French doors into what must have once been a vast and magnificent garden. Gasping at what she could see was splendor begging to be rescued, Katherine identified many plant species among the woody and brambly overgrowth.

Climbing rosebushes had a stranglehold on a rotting arbor that now tipped to a sad angle but still was an ornate piece of workmanship. Massive twisting trunks of wisteria were hidden behind intrusive, shallow-rooted wild pepper vines that she knew could be so easily yanked from the soil.

“Let’s work on this before I go back home. I would love to help you begin to recover this garden.”

He looked at her, saying nothing at first. A slow smile transformed his face, and his eyes shone with contentment.

“Allons-y!”
he said.

“Let’s do it!”

She would never have believed two weeks could simply vanish in bliss.

The mornings were hers, as Philippe left at 7:00 a.m. to organize his stand at the market and tend to his customers.

Joyfully laborious afternoons were spent working in the gardens and planning how the final outcome might look. There was a small semblance of order appearing around the grounds and an impressive collection of empty wine bottles gathering on the pantry counter.

Lying squashed on the cot in the kitchen or sitting with their legs dangling off the wooden counter, they talked long into many nights. Conversation between them flowed easily as they shared their thoughts and interests and swatted mosquitoes. They were surprised to discover they shared similar tastes on topics like books, history, and concern about world affairs. Simple pleasures made them both content. Philippe’s quiet humor was ever present, and Katherine was aware of the absence of sarcasm—something she had heard from James on a regular basis.

Philippe revealed his dreams, once buried along with Genevi
è
ve, for the property and the possibilities he envisioned of transforming the house to a small inn. He encouraged Katherine to share her ideas as together they began to bring it all to life.

As he listened to her, Philippe knew he wanted only to be with her, to have her body leaning into his, their arms around each other.

Other afternoons they took liberating motorcycle trips into the hills, riding far and fast and feeling such a sense of freedom.

“Trust me,” he encouraged as he took her on steeply winding climbs. She thought about how she was beginning to trust him in so many ways that had nothing to do with the motorcycle.

Spreading a blanket under ancient abandoned olive trees on secluded hilltops along their routes, they made love or simply talked, their silences often just as meaningful. The panoramas stretching before them were as memorable as the moments they gave each other.

After the first exciting and out-of-control nights, their lovemaking felt comfortable and satisfying. They knew their desires were arising from mutual respect and a deeper caring that comes with age as well as from physical attraction and stores of passion that had been hidden away for a very long time. Listening to each other, they were equal partners in this passion.

This intimacy felt new to Katherine and brought into focus how she and James had been more like roommates for a very, very long time.

At one point she realized she had stopped being concerned about her age. She felt strong and confident and recently had smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror and recalled the old skin-care advertising campaign—“You’re not getting older, you’re getting better.” Her skin glowed. Her blue eyes had a brightness that had been lost for years. The fact that more white and gray hair was mingling with the blond didn’t seem to matter. Most of the time she simply lost herself in moments where age faded away.

One day they rode to the goat-cheese supplier and ate the most basic and delicious meal: green salad with toasts covered in melted
chèvre
, prosciutto made from the farm’s own stock and sliced so thinly you could almost see through it and served with fresh baguette, followed by the newest of
chèvre
, accompanied by lavender honey and an apple
tarte
. Everything was served simply on rustic slabs of olive wood.

Philippe explained the differences between the new and old
chèvre
. To hear the farmer describe it and watch the actual process, handed down for generations, was fascinating. The men spoke of the frustrations cheese makers were suffering with many unnecessary changes the European Union regulations were demanding.

“Who says the old ways are not the best?” the farmer asked.

Some of the structures on the farm dated to the sixteenth century, and with the seemingly isolated and wild setting, high in the hills, one had a sense of time travel.

The goats displayed a certain beauty, with majestic curved horns and coats of burnished copper and rich brown tinged with beige. They wandered freely along with some of the most gigantic pigs Katherine had ever seen.

Philippe smiled knowingly when she described how captivated she was by the place.
She could tell it pleased him to see she appreciated his world.

Mirella and her husband brought Joy to Antibes for a day. The visitors stayed overnight with Philippe at his apartment, and their dinner at a favorite bistro featured a few champagne toasts as they celebrated the happy reunion.

Joy confided in Katherine that she had not seen Philippe so happy in all the years he had been alone. “I think you have been a very good tonic for him,
ma chère
. How I wish we could keep you here.”

Katherine nodded. “I will miss all of you, and I promise to return. How could I not? I feel torn, but I know I have to get back to my real world. I have a new job waiting for me.”

That night,
Philippe remained at his apartment with his guests, and Katherine became painfully aware of how quickly she had accepted his presence in her bed, in her thoughts, in her heart. This had not been part of her new life plan. She never wanted to be vulnerable to the hurt and deceit she had endured with James. She hadn’t been certain she could trust anyone again, and she had reached a point of feeling happy alone before she met Philippe. Now she felt even happier with him and acutely felt his absence.

It’s just as well I’m leaving before I get in any deeper. Wait, could it get any deeper?

As the lovers had agreed after that first night of passion, they had not spoken much about what was happening between them. In their most intimate moments they had, at first with hesitation, expressed feelings and whispered desires, but never projected into the future.

There were looks and touches that transmitted signals so deeply they simply could not be missed. Each time something held one thought captive.

In spite of the emotional expressions, soft voices, passionate
responses—
why does every word sound so beautiful with a French accent?
—the words “I love you” had not been heard.

Katherine had blurted this to Molly during one of their Skype chats, and Molly’s raspy chortle and words had stayed with her. “Katski, in my humble opinion, saying ‘I love you’ is so yesterday. Don’t get hung up on it. The way Philippe behaves with you, respects you, hears you, and makes you feel—that’s what really counts. That’s where the love shows. If you feel that love when you have your clothes on, then I’m betting what you feel when you get physical is magic. Here endeth the gospel according to
moi
.”

“You know, Moll. I sometimes remember how James would say he loved me even though I know now he was cheating on me. So, yeah, really, how important is it?”

Philippe did make her feel respected and special. She felt she offered the same to him. They had not tried to determine if they were taking down the protective walls each had put up after their own particular disasters. They had just been.

There were moments she shivered with delight and embraced completely the joy of what they shared. There were other moments she felt paralyzed with fear that this was too good to be true.

In her final week, Katherine bade good-bye to her bridge group, which had a laughter-filled surprise party for her. She
bised
her hiking and conversation group and thanked them for making her so welcome. The cycling group also had a festive send-off for her after the last Tuesday-evening ride, teasing her about how she would miss her friend Philippe. She wondered how they would feel if they knew he was spending every night with her.