Her Mediterranean Makeover. Claire Baxter

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СКАЧАТЬ her husband and she made the decision to leave him.’

      ‘Oh?’

      For the first time, a look of disapproval crossed her face. Perhaps she found it hard to accept that not all marriages were as long and happy as hers had been. But it was a sad fact of life that some marriages were not made in heaven. His own included.

      He shook off the bad memory before it could spoil this pleasant moment with Leonie.

      ‘He was violent,’ he said. ‘She made the right choice.’

      ‘Oh, I see. Of course she did. That’s awful.’ Her forehead creased. ‘But how were you involved?’

      He shrugged. ‘She needed someone to help move her belongings out of the house while her husband was at work. She needed to find a safe place for her children and herself to stay where he is unlikely to find them.’

      ‘She has children?’ Biting her lip, she frowned. ‘Did she find somewhere to stay?’

      ‘Yes. She’s safe now.’

      ‘Oh, good.’ She blew out a breath. ‘You helped her do all this?’

      He nodded. ‘Someone had to. It took a little longer than I expected.’

      ‘For what it’s worth, I think you did absolutely the right thing.’ After a hesitation, she said, ‘Is she your girlfriend?’

      ‘No! Of course not. I told you, she is married.’

      ‘I don’t think that would stop everyone.’

      ‘It would stop me.’

      She gave him a doubtful glance.

      ‘You don’t believe me?’

      ‘Of course I do. But I don’t understand why you felt obliged to help.’

      He shrugged. ‘She has no one else.’

      Smiling, she shook her head. ‘You’re a nice man, Jacques.’

      ‘Let’s go this way.’ He touched her elbow with one hand as he pointed with the other. Embarrassed, he drew her attention to the baroque architecture of the church in front of them.

      He watched her as she looked up at the building. She might be over forty, but she was quite beautiful, and not at all aware of the fact.

      He’d noticed her as soon as she’d entered Jean-Claude’s café that first day with the light from the door shining through her blond curls and making a striking picture. Then she’d turned her gaze on him and it was so direct, so frank, that he’d been taken aback for a second or two.

      Hers wasn’t the classical beauty he’d always preferred, but she had a charming, expressive face, a genuine smile and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean, eyes that warmed at the slightest mention of her children.

      She seemed surprised to find herself here playing truant from her role as a mother. Leonie, it seemed, had never taken time for herself and was long overdue for a break. As they moved on she stared up at the pastel-coloured façades of the buildings they were passing.

      ‘Why did you choose to stay in Vieux Nice?’

      ‘The old town? Well, I thought it would be full of character. And it is. These buildings…they’re so tall and thin and so close together. It’s as if they’re reaching up for the sun.’

      Jacques chuckled. ‘You have a point.’

      ‘But they’re so pretty too. I love all the shutters on the windows. They’re like eyelids.’

      ‘Eyelids?’ He frowned, wondering whether he’d misunderstood the meaning of the English word, but then he realised what she meant. ‘Eyelids. That’s different.’

      ‘It’s colourful and cheerful.’

      He nodded. ‘It’s a popular area now. At one time it was crime-infested and poverty-stricken, but it’s changed. There has been a lot of restoration work to preserve its architecture, and urban regeneration has encouraged the young, trendy people to move in. In fact, the further east you go in Nice, the younger the population becomes.’

      ‘Oh.’ Leonie laughed. ‘I didn’t know that. Perhaps I should have chosen the other end of town.’

      ‘I didn’t say it for that reason. You are not old, Leonie. You have to stop talking of yourself that way.’

      ‘Why? It doesn’t bother me.’

      It bothered him. She was a vibrant, beautiful woman, and her age was an irrelevant number. ‘Besides, it’s not all young people. There are some lifelong residents here too.’

      ‘Yes, I’ve seen some older people. There’s a lady who always sits at the window opposite mine.’

      They continued walking through the labyrinth of streets packed with shops, galleries and bistros. Leonie stopped to look into a store selling handmade toys and puppets, then they made their way to the Quai des États-Unis where they stopped to gaze at the glimmering sea.

      ‘That ferry is going to Corsica,’ he said, pointing at a yellow ship.

      She nodded, shading her eyes from the high afternoon sun as she followed its progress. ‘Do you have to get back to the restaurant now?’

      He frowned at his watch, wishing it would slow down. ‘Soon. I have time to walk back with you, though.’

      ‘Don’t let me delay you.’ She turned to him with a smile. ‘I can find my own way back. Sort of. Well, I might take a detour or two, but I’ll get there eventually.’

      He watched her for a moment, the wind blowing her curls into a chaotic mess, then shook his head. ‘I’d like to walk back with you, if you’re ready to go.’

      ‘Sure.’ She gave him one of her beaming smiles.

      ‘Have you visited the flower market?’ he asked as they turned.

      ‘No. I’ve heard about it, but apparently you have to be there early and I’m at the school every morning.’

      ‘Sunday too?’

      She shook her head. ‘There are no classes on Sunday.’

      ‘Then you should see it. The best time is around six o’clock while the tourists are still in their hotel rooms.’

      ‘Six! All right, I’ll set my alarm and make sure I do.’

      ‘I could collect you, if you like.’

      ‘Really? Would you?’

      ‘Of course.’ The idea of spending the morning with her appealed, and her happy smile warmed him.

      ‘What a lovely idea. I’d really like that.’

      He nodded. ‘I would too.’

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