Kitabı oku: «French Escape», sayfa 2

Only the challenges of climbing temporarily swept the memories away. Intense concentration was necessary to pit his strength against the walls of rock. And the energy expended ensured he slept most nights without nightmares.

He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in staying at the inn. He hadn’t expected a young and pretty innkeeper— or a child.

As he ate he wondered about the widow behind him. Her husband had died from a climbing fall. Yet she ran a successful inn in the shadows of some spectacular day climbs. He was curious about her. His cousins would be delighted to learn that he could wonder about something and not be locked into the past. His uncle would see it as moving on. His aunt might even hold out stronger hopes.

Not that he foresaw much interaction between Madame Rousseau and him except as it concerned his stay.

Climbing was dangerous. He knew as well as the next man, a cliff, a mountain could turn rogue and the one scaling its face could end up injured or dead. Yet the challenge wouldn’t let go. To climb a sheer cliff, to scale a mountain too steep and rugged for the average trekker was a challenge not to be missed. The exaltation when conquering each one was a high he had once relished. Man against nature. Sometimes nature won. So far in his pursuits, he’d triumphed. Not that he took joy now; it was just something to do to take his mind off his loss.

He didn’t envy the pretty innkeeper. She’d have her hands full raising a son without a father. He knew Marabelle would have had lots of family to rally around if he had been the one to die. His family tried to help out, but he didn’t need them. It was easier dealing with everything on his own. It was his own private hell, and he wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon.

Matt heard the commotion behind him as the bill was paid. A moment later the small boy startled him, coming to stand at his side. “Did you like dinner? Isn’t this a good place to eat?” he asked, smiling up at Matt. The boy’s sunny disposition penetrated his own dark thoughts.

He took in the earnest expression on the child’s face and nodded. “It is a very good place to eat.”

His reward was another sunny smile the child bestowed. “I like it lots,” he said.

“Come along, Alexandre,” his mother summoned him.

When Matt followed a few moments later, he spotted the mother and son on the beach. They had removed their shoes and obviously were going to walk back to the inn along the shore.

He hadn’t walked along any beach in a long time. He watched them until others exited the restaurant, laughing, reminding him he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Giving into impulse, he stepped onto the beach and headed to the packed sand near the water.

The little boy danced at the edge of the sea, running almost to the water, then dancing back when the small wavelets splashed on his feet. His laughter was carefree. How long had it been since he had felt that carefree? Matt wondered. Would he ever again?

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING Jeanne-Marie placed the coffee press in front of the older couple from Nantes. They were both engrossed in their daily newspaper and didn’t even glance up. Surveying the small dining area, she was pleased to see her guests enjoying the breakfast she provided. Three couples had requested the box lunch she also supplied to guests. Many liked to enjoy the water sports and didn’t want to have to change to eat lunch at one of the establishments in town.

Breakfast, however, was the only hot meal she provided.

Mentally checking off her list, she realized Matthieu Sommer had not yet come down. Or had he left before everyone else while she was in the kitchen preparing the meal? Glancing at her watch, she noted it was almost nine. Surely he would be up and about before now.

Checking to make sure no one needed anything, she slipped back into the kitchen to begin cleaning up. Alexandre sat at the small table at the nook she reserved for their meals. He was playing with his ever-present cars and totally engrossed in his own world. Jeanne-Marie sometimes wished she could go back to being the little girl who had had no thoughts of the future, but had been happy and content in her own safe family life. Her parents were professors at the university in Berkeley, California. She missed the activities of the college town.

She missed her family more and more, but never let them know that when they called. E-mails were easier; she could get the words just right before sending. Truly she was content in St. Bart for the most part. One day she and Alexandre would go to California for a long vacation, but so far it had seemed easier for her parents to come to France than for her to take a small child so far.

She loved France. As she had loved Phillipe. This inn had come to him when his grandfather died. It was a connection she didn’t want to sever. Sometimes she dreamed of what their life could have been had he not been killed. That was not to be, and those dreams had come less frequently.

Meantime, once her guests finished eating, she had dishes to clean and preparations for tomorrow’s breakfast to start. She baked her own rolls and breads. She liked to prepare a quiche every couple of days, and some of the more English-styled breakfasts for those who wanted them, experimenting with different soufflés and egg dishes.

As she washed the plates and cups sometime later, Jeanne-Marie’s thoughts centered on Matthieu Sommer again! She wondered what he’d done upon his return to the inn last night. He’d gone directly to his room. She did not have televisions or radios. She had a small bookcase of mysteries and romance novels, but couldn’t see Matthieu Sommer sitting still to read a book. There was a restless energy about him that demanded physical outlets, not quiet reading pursuits.

Had he left early for a climb? Or had something happened and he had become sick and was still in bed? Maybe she’d run up to check room six. Just in case.

She knew she was being foolish, but it wouldn’t hurt. If he had already left, he’d never know she had checked.

At ten o’clock, Jeanne-Marie went to the front desk to work on some of the accounts. Alexandre was content to play with his toys on the veranda, clearly visible through the open French doors. The day was beautiful, balmy breezes came from the sea, the sun had not yet reached its zenith, so the temperatures were still pleasant. She spotted the envelope immediately, and recognized the bold handwriting with her name clearly written across it. Had she seen it earlier, it would have stopped her concern. And the trip to peep into room six.

She took out the sheet of paper, suddenly feeling more alive and alert than before. She quickly read the brief missive. “Wanted a full day of climbing. In case I’m not back by dark, I’m starting on Le Casse-cou climb.”

She shook her head and refolded the paper. Just like him to start with the Daredevil climb. No easy warmups for him. At least he was smart enough to let someone know where to start looking for him if he didn’t return. She shivered, thrusting away all images of what could happen to a solo climber on the face of the cliffs. There would be others around. He might find a group of two or three to join with, each climbing at his or her own rate, yet within yelling distance in case anyone got into trouble.

She tried to imagine putting her life at risk for something as nonessential as climbing. Granted, she could understand challenging oneself, but her most daring adventures were diving in the shallows of the Mediterranean. Phillipe had loved scaling all different terrains, however. Never tiring, even on climbs he’d done before. So there had to be something to recommend it. That gene had eluded her.

As her guests came and went through the day, she couldn’t help growing on edge as the afternoon waned and dusk approached. Matthieu Sommer still had not returned. She prepared dinner for herself and her son. Telling Rene to let her know when Monsieur Sommer returned, Jeanne-Marie didn’t fully enjoy her dinner as worry began to rise. The minutes seemed to race by. Shouldn’t he have been back by now? What if he’d fallen? What would she do if the police showed up to inform her of his death and collect his things from his room? She almost groaned in remembered agony of when she’d been so notified.

She had climbers all the time staying in the inn. She’d not worried about any of them beyond the normal concern. This was getting ridiculous. He was fine! And it was nothing to her if he weren’t.

“The kid at the front desk said you wanted to see me when I returned,” Matt said from the doorway to the kitchen.

Jeanne-Marie looked up and caught her breath. He looked hot, tired and a wee bit sunburned. The climbing clothes he wore were dirty and scuffed. He had a small cut on one cheek that had bled and scabbed over. His hair was gray with dust. His dark eyes held her gaze, intense and focused.

She felt her heart skip a beat, then race. Her worry had been for naught.

“I, uh, just wanted to make sure I knew when you returned. So I didn’t call Search and Rescue,” she said lamely.

“Hi,” Alexandre said with his sunny smile. “You need a bath. Then do you want to walk on the beach with me?” His hopeful tone almost broke Jeanne-Marie’s heart. It wasn’t often he asked anything of their guests. She wished she had found a male friend who would provide a strong role model for her son. He saw his grandfather too infrequently.

“No, honey, Monsieur Sommer’s tired and probably needs to eat supper.”

“I am hungry,” he confirmed.

She nodded. “Did you have anything to eat today?” Climbing took a lot out of a body; surely he knew enough to eat for fuel.

“Got breakfast at the bakery and they made up some sandwiches, which I ate perched on a small ledge with a view that encompassed half the Med. I’m thirsty more than hungry.”

She jumped up and went to get him a glass of water, relieved he was safe, annoyed she had even noticed.

She handed him the glass and his fingers brushed against hers, sending a jolt of awareness to her very core. She backed off, wanting him out of her kitchen, out of her inn. He awoke feelings and interests best left dormant. She normally didn’t mingle much with her guests. He had already trespassed by coming into the kitchen. Rene could have let her know.

“You can eat dinner here. Mama’s a good cook,” the five-year-old said.

Matt raised an eyebrow in Jeanne-Marie’s direction, a silent question.

She wanted to tell him her inn provided two meals a day, and no one ate in the privacy of her own quarters. But looking at the angelic expression on her little boy weakened her resolve. He asked for so little, was content with life as they knew it. How could she refuse?

“Never mind, I’ll get something in town,” Matt said, placing the glass on the counter.

“If you want to freshen up first, I’ll warm up what we’re having. It’s a stew that’s been simmering all day. I can have a plate for you in twenty minutes.” There was plenty—she had planned on it serving her and Alexandre for two days. A plan easily changed for her son’s sake.

“Deal. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” He left without another word.

Jeanne-Marie let out her held breath with a whoosh. Turning, she went to the stove. The heat had been turned off the stew, so she quickly began warming it. She had fresh bread she’d made that morning. A salad and apple crumble would be a nutritious meal for a man who had expended untold energy pushing his body to the limit scaling a sheer cliff.

And while he ate, she’d let him know it was a onetime meal. She didn’t provide dinner. She didn’t want him in her space. He’d be gone in a few days, nothing permanent about guests who came and went.

Mostly she felt flustered. Personal customer service was important in running an inn, especially if she wanted repeat customers, but that did not include sharing meals in her private domain. And especially with someone who without effort seemed to turn her upside down.

She and Alexandre had finished their meal by the time Matt returned. His hair was still damp; the cut on his cheek had been taped with a butterfly bandage. Obviously he was used to minor scrapes and had come prepared. His cheeks were slightly sunburned. But the rest of him looked amazingly robust and healthy. Jeanne-Marie was not one to have fantasies about strangers who came to the inn. This aberration had to end!

“I can serve you on the veranda overlooking the sea,” she suggested, jumping up and trying to get him out of her private space.

He glanced at their empty plates on the small table. “Since you’re finished, that’ll be fine with me.”

“I can sit with you to keep you company,” Alexandre volunteered, clutching two cars against his chest.

Carrying out the plate and utensils, she hoped other guests wouldn’t ask for similar service. She worked hard enough without adding an extra meal for all guests into the mix.

She placed his dish on one of the glass tables that dotted the veranda. The sunscreens had been lowered earlier to keep the heat from the lounge. She pressed the switch to raise one to offer a better view, but kept the one directly in front of his table down to shelter it from the last rays of the sun.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” she said, hurrying back to the kitchen. Normally she kept Alexandre away from the guests when they were eating, but the few moments it took her to get the water wouldn’t hurt.

She brought out a pitcher of water and a tall glass. She remembered how Phillipe gulped water as if he were dying of thirst when he returned from climbing.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“No, this looks perfect,” he said when she set the pitcher on the table. “I appreciate the water.”

“I remember.” She sat gingerly on a nearby chair, looking at the sea glowing golden as the sun descended. It would be dusk and then dark before long. Alexandre would go to bed and she’d be alone with her thoughts.

She debated returning to the kitchen. Maybe in a moment. Would it be rude to leave? Did he want privacy or should she act as a hostess?

“You spent a long day on the cliffs,” she said.

“I got an early start, then prowled around a bit on the top. The view is stupendous. No wonder it’s highly recommended.” The words fit, but his tone lacked the enthusiasm she usually heard from climbers.

When he did not elaborate, she said, “The cliffs are so popular the government’s concerned about pollution and eco damage. There’s talk about closing them down, or limiting the number of people who have access.” She glanced at him as he ate. He seemed to enjoy the food. Good. She was an excellent cook. But since her husband’s death, she rarely entertained. At first she couldn’t face having anyone over. She’d wanted to grieve in private. The first few months after his death, she’d kept busy by closing their flat in Marseilles and moving here and learning the guest services trade.

“I saw some trash and debris while I was climbing. And there was a pile of trash at the top,” he said. “People can be thoughtless and careless. Those are the ones to keep out.”

She nodded. “Yet how to do that? Ask if someone is thoughtless before permitting them to climb? Who would admit to it?”

He shrugged. “It’d be a shame to close access because of the acts of a few.”

“If you eat all your dinner, there’s apple crumble for dessert, with ice cream,” Alexandre said, leaning against the table and watching as Matt ate. He’d scarcely taken his gaze off the man.

“This is a very good dinner,” he told the boy.

“I helped make the bread,” he said proudly. “Mama lets me punch it.”

“You did an excellent job.”

Alexandre smiled again and stared at Matt with open admiration.

“Did you climb a mountain today?” he asked.

“A cliff, not a mountain,” Matt replied.

“My dad climbed mountains. I will, too, when I get big. I’ll go to the top and see everything!”

“The views from the top are incomparable,” Matt agreed.

“Can I go climbing with you? Can we go to a mountain?”

“No. Don’t be pestering our guest,” Jeanne-Marie said sharply. She didn’t like talk about Alexandre’s climbing. Too often his grand-père encouraged him by telling him all about climbs he’d done with Phillipe. She didn’t think she’d ever like the thought, but realized Alexandre would be his own person when he grew up. If he took up the same hobby as his father, she hoped he wouldn’t come to the same end. It scared her just thinking about it.

“He’s not pestering me. Actually, I had already taken my son on a couple of easy rock climbs by the time he was Alexandre’s age.”

“I could go. I’m big now. I’m five.” He looked at Matt with a mixture of admiration and entreaty.

Jeanne-Marie felt her heart drop. He had a son. All the more reason to remember he was merely a guest and she the hostess of the inn. And to stay away.

Jeanne-Marie didn’t like that look on Alexandre’s face. He’d better not get a hero fixation on this guest. Matt was only here another six days. Once before, a year or so ago, Alexandre had latched onto a guest who had been staying at the inn with his wife and daughter and who had kindly included her son in some of their activities. Alexandre had moped around for weeks after their departure, not truly understanding why they didn’t come back.

“Alexandre, do you want to help me dish up the dessert?” she asked, standing quickly, anxious to put some distance between her son and guest. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality. She didn’t want Alexandre to pester him until he snapped something out that would hurt her son’s feelings. Though if he had a son, he was probably used to little boys.

“Sure. We waited for you,” he said, placing his cars on the table and running into the house.

Jeanne-Marie hoped Matt wouldn’t think she had deliberately waited to be included when he ate the dessert. He was obviously married and with a child. Where was his family? Had they stayed home since he wanted serious climbing, beyond the level of a child? Had they made other plans, separate vacations? She couldn’t imagine it, but some couples liked that.

Matt watched as Jeanne-Marie followed her son at a more sedate pace—but not by much. He thought of her that way, seeing her name on the brochure for the inn. He had trouble picturing her as Madame Rousseau.

She certainly hadn’t had to feed him; he knew the inn didn’t offer dinners. Maybe tomorrow he’d make a later start and sample both the breakfast and box lunch she offered.

Taking another deep drink of water, he watched the brush of the Mediterranean against the white sandy beach. He couldn’t believe he’d mentioned his son so casually. The world hadn’t ended. The searing pain had not sliced. Instead a kind of peace descended. His son had been so proud climbing the small hills they’d scrambled up together. He could remember his boasting to his mother.

He finished the simple meal and leaned back in his chair. For the first time in ages he felt almost content. He was pleasantly tired from the climb and replete with the excellent stew. And he had liked speaking of Etienne. He never wanted himself or anyone to forget his boy.

His cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and flipped it open to respond.

“Hey, man,” his friend Paul said.

“What’s up?” Matt responded. He knew—Paul was partying already. He could hear the background noise of a club.

“Having a great time. You should come over. It wouldn’t be that long a drive, would it? I’ve got some hot babes lined up. We can party until dawn.”

Over the last year Paul had tried to set him up with several women. His friend felt enough time had passed for Matt to get back into the dating scene. Never having married himself, Paul really didn’t understand. There was no magical time to stop grieving. No magical moment when a man said forget the past, marry again. Matt couldn’t see himself deliberately putting his heart and emotions at risk. Once shattered, he wasn’t willing to take the risk of getting involved again. The fear of another marriage ending suddenly and horribly couldn’t be ignored. He’d had his shot at happiness. Now it was time to come to terms with the hand life had dealt.

“Party until dawn and then go climbing?” Matt asked. A sure formula for disaster.

“We could sleep in a little, then hit the cliffs. I got in a climb today. Beat my own record for going up and back,” Paul said.

Even in climbing Paul couldn’t lose his competitiveness.

“Did you like the view?” Matt asked.

“What view? Water below me, rock in my face. Hey, I could show you that climb tomorrow, race you to the top.”

Jeanne-Marie and her son stepped out onto the veranda, three bowls on a tray. Alexandre proudly carried spoons.

Another time Matt might have skipped dessert, but he was tempted by the novelty of eating with her and her son. Now it also provided a good excuse to end the call.

“You have a drink for me, Paul. I’ll skip tonight but be in touch. We’ll meet up later in the week and scale something together.”

“Ah, man, you’ll be missing some kind of fun.”

“My loss,” Matt said, not believing a word. He flipped the phone closed as Jeanne-Marie placed one of the bowls in front of him. Alexandre solemnly handed him a spoon, then scampered around to sit in the chair across from him. Jeanne-Marie placed a bowl with a smaller serving in front of Alexandre. Jeanne-Marie sat to Matt’s right, throwing him an uncertain look as if not sure of her welcome.

He was momentarily taken aback. Giving in with poor grace, he accepted they would sit with him until each had finished their dessert.

The apple crumble was warm and cinnamony, the rich vanilla ice cream a delicious addition. The dessert almost melted in his mouth.

“This is delicious.” Even his own cook rarely had a dessert as tasty as this.

“Thank you.”

“You should offer dinner to your guests. They’d enjoy your cooking.” He had enjoyed it. And the fact he didn’t have to leave the inn.

She smiled shyly and shook her head. “I have everything going the way I like. There’s such a thing as too much, you know.”

“Such as?”

“Trading my afternoons with Alexandre to cook for as many as fifteen people day in, day out would be too much. I try to be creative with my breakfasts, though. You’d know if you try them.”

“I plan to sample one in the morning. If I can still get an early start.”

“I can provide breakfast as early as six-thirty if I know ahead of time. Sometimes people go diving or out on one of the cruise ships and need an equally early start. I also fix the box lunches for them to take.”

“Six-thirty it is.”

Matt savored the dessert. He watched Alexandre scrape every bit of it from his bowl and lick his spoon as if hoping more would appear. It reminded him of Etienne. He almost smiled, then felt a pang at his loss. Was that a trait of all little boys? Etienne would have loved this dessert.

Alexandre looked up at Matt, dropping his spoon in the bowl with a clatter. “Can you go for a walk with me now? And can you take me to climb a mountain?”

“Monsieur Sommer is too tired to go walking with us,” Jeanne-Marie said quickly. “And there are no mountains nearby.”

Truth was he would relish an early night, but the look of disappointment on the boy’s face and the quick way she’d tried to shut him out perversely caused him to agree to the walk. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to spend more time with them, but the less she wanted him around, the more he wanted to stay. There was nothing in his room but memories he’d just as soon forget.

“I’m not eighty. A good meal and I’m ready to go. A short walk sounds like just the thing before bed,” he said, holding her gaze for a moment in challenge.

“It becomes rocky the closer to Les Calanques we go,” she said, glancing at the cliffs, now growing dark and mysterious as the last of the daylight faded.

What was it about her that made him want to spend time with her? Normally he stayed away from people. Was it the novelty of someone not tiptoeing around him that had him interested? Or her quiet appeal that he found intriguing? She didn’t flirt, didn’t try to sound witty and entertaining. Didn’t avoid subjects for fear of his reaction. Of course, she didn’t know about his wife and child. That might change matters.

Jeanne-Marie cleared their bowls and spoke to Rene before returning to the veranda. Matt listened to Alexandre talking about his day playing with his race cars and how he helped make the bread and that he still had to take naps, which he didn’t need anymore because he wasn’t a baby and would be starting kindergarten in the fall. And about how his dad had climbed very high mountains and he wanted to as well.

Matt nodded at Alexandre’s earnest conversation and remembered Etienne had been like that. He remembered his son going on and on like this boy did. And he remembered his following Matt around the vineyard, questioning everything. He had had a million questions. God, Matt wished he’d been able to answer them all.

“A short walk,” Jeanne-Marie said when she returned onto the veranda.

When Matt stood, Alexandre slipped his small hand in his larger one. He was startled by the feeling of protectiveness that surged toward this small boy. He missed his son. He’d had him until his fifth year. Not nearly long enough. Etienne should have grown up, married, lived a full life.

Instead he was gone.

But for a few moments, Matt would suspend the past and just be with a small boy. And remember the happier days with his own son.

The walk along the beach would have been in silence except for the constant babble from Alexandre. He seemed capable of chattering away forever without comment from either adult. Not that Matt had anything to say. The sea on one side, the last of the establishments on the other and the cliffs ahead. It didn’t call for much comment.

Jeanne-Marie looked at him, her expression bemused. “You’re doing well with this. I guess it comes from being around your own son. He can talk your ear off.”

“He’s young, still learning so much. Life is easier at that age.” Oddly he was enjoying the walk. It was amazing what a five-year-old had to talk about. The poignant loss of his son was overshadowed by the delight this child had in his surroundings.

“Did you grow up here?” he asked when Alexandre pulled away to run ahead to a piece of driftwood.

She shook her head. It was harder to see her as the light waned. Soon they’d have to be guided by the lights spilling out from the scattered buildings along the beach.

“I was born and raised in California. My parents are both professors at the university in Berkeley. We lived not too far from the campus. I met Phillipe when I came to France as an exchange student in my junior year. I stayed and graduated from La Sorbonne. When we married, we lived in Marseilles. That’s where he was from. His parents still live there.”

“So you chose this inn rather than return to America?”

“Phillipe’s grandfather left it to him. We had a manager running it when he was alive. But we spent a lot of time here when he wasn’t working. After his death, I thought this would keep me closer somehow. Plus it gives me the opportunity to make a living and still be able to spend most of the day with my son. And keep him near enough to see his grandparents. Alexandre’s all they have left of their only child.”

“It’s a charming village. But quiet.”

“True. It suits us at this stage in our lives.”

He wished he could see her expression. “What do you do in the evenings?”

“Read. Work on the accounts if I don’t get a chance during the day. I have a computer and keep in touch with my family and friends. And I have Alexandre.”

“He can’t be much of a conversationalist, though you wouldn’t know it by his chatter tonight. It’s captivating, actually.”

She smiled, barely visible in the dim light. “He can be funny and wise at the same time—and all without knowing it. I’m content with my life. Why would I change it?”

“To find another husband. It can’t be easy to be a single parent.”

“I had one. I don’t expect a second.”

“Men aren’t rationed, one per woman.”

She shrugged. “How many wives have you had?” she asked.

He paused a second before replying, “One.”

“Ah, the contented married man,” she said.

“A drunk driver killed her and our son. Two years ago now.”

“I’m sorry. How horrible.” Jeanne-Marie was stunned. She couldn’t imagine losing both Phillipe and Alexandre. Sympathetically she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

They walked in silence for a moment, then hoping she wasn’t making things worse, she asked, “Where do you live?”

“Family enterprise in the Vallée de la Loire.”

“Castles and vineyards,” she murmured. “Do you have a castle?” she asked whimsically.

He paused a moment. She wished the light was better so she could see his expression.

“My family has one,” he finally said.

“You’re kidding! How astonishing. Are those old castles as hard to heat as they look?”

Matt was surprised by her question. Most of the time if the castle came into discussion—which he tried to avoid—the first question was how large was it and when could the person see it. “The rooms we don’t use are closed off, and those in use comprise the size of a normal house, so it’s not as hard to heat as you might suspect.”

“Sorry, it’s none of my business, but every time I’ve seen one, I’ve wondered how in the world it’s heated. We don’t have such a problem in winter here with the warmer climate.”

“Are you a king?” Alexandre asked.