Her Mediterranean Makeover. Claire Baxter

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.’

      And he meant it. It had been a long time since he’d found a woman’s company so enjoyable. It had been a long time since he’d known a woman like Leonie. If he ever had.

      Chapter Three

      LEONIE was watching from her little balcony when Jacques turned into the Rue Saint Augustin just before six o’clock. With a smile at her earlyrising neighbour across the street, who surprised her by smiling back, she closed the doors and hurried downstairs to meet him.

      ‘Bonjour, Leonie.’

      A little thrill ran through her at the way he said her name and she grinned at him. ‘Bonjour, Jacques.’

      She slipped on her sunglasses, and felt a lot younger than her years as they made their way to the market, chatting about all sorts of things. There was an ease between them that was reassuring, but at the same time amazing. On the one hand, it felt as if she’d known him for ages, but, on the other, everything she learned about him was new and intriguing.

      She learned that he liked art—a lot—and was very proud of French artists whom she only knew by name, and vaguely at that.

      ‘French people like to look at beautiful things,’ he said.

      ‘But that’s a generalisation. I mean, you can’t say that other nationalities don’t like to look at beautiful things. How are the French different?’

      His face twisted in thought. ‘I don’t know how to explain it, but we are different.’

      She laughed. She could well believe it. ‘I know nothing about art.’

      ‘But you must know whether you like a painting, or not?’

      ‘I suppose I would know, but I’ve never really looked at any.’

      His horrified expression made her laugh again. It was going to be fun learning all the differences between them. Like turning to page one of a new book, so much to discover.

      She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so excited about a new friend. At one point she caught herself practically skipping with childish enthusiasm, and shook her head, smiling.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Nothing. Just that I haven’t been out so early before, and it feels good. I like it.’

      And she liked not being alone, she added silently. She had to be careful not to take advantage of Jacques’ good nature. It would be very tempting to hint at other sights she wanted to see. But putting him in that position wouldn’t be fair.

      When they reached the cours, the streetlamps were still on, but a pink glow above the buildings promised that the sun would soon be with them. Market awnings stretched in front of Leonie. Stripes everywhere. Yellow and white, blue and white, yellow and green.

      Cut flowers perfumed the fresh morning air, but it was the beautifully presented fruit and vegetables, and the herbs and spices, that surprised Leonie.

      ‘I thought it was only flowers.’ She pointed at one of the stalls. ‘Look at the way that fruit has been arranged. Now, that’s like a work of art.’

      They walked the entire length of the market, a hundred stalls or more, seeing everything from golfball-sized stuffed olives to live chickens.

      Her stomach jumped when he touched her back to steer her out of the way of flailing elbows, and towards an item he wanted her to see.

      Leonie tried to put her reaction out of her mind. She’d been taken by surprise, that was all. She took her time over choosing a mixed bunch of flowers to brighten her apartment. Dominated by yellow lilies and white daisies with touches of orange and purple, it made her smile as she joined Jacques, who was waiting without any sign of impatience.

      ‘Isn’t it gorgeous? It will look lovely on my little table.’

      She strolled at his side, acutely aware of him despite the mingling scents, the noise and jostle of the market.

      She wanted him to touch her again so she could see if she’d imagined the electricity that had zipped through her. But at the same time, she didn’t want him to touch her because she hadn’t reacted like this to a man in…well, in for ever, and it was scary.

      She couldn’t even remember feeling such a strong response to Shane in the early days. But maybe it was her memory that was the problem. It had been a very long time, after all, since she and Shane had gone from classmates to boyfriend and girlfriend.

      Yes, a long, long time.

      And Jacques would probably be horrified. He was being friendly to her because…well, just because he was a nice man. Not because he saw her as anything other than a middle-aged woman who was trying to learn his language.

      She tried to jolt herself out of her disturbing awareness of him, because there was no way she was going to let Jacques see what his presence was doing to her.

      When they’d finally seen enough, they stood for a moment in front of the tall, washed-out yellow house where Jacques said the artist Henri Matisse had lived early in the previous century, then he pointed and said, ‘What do you think about climbing la colline du château?’

      ‘Hmm?’ She turned around to see the hill that rose from the edge of the old town. ‘There’s a château up there?’

      ‘No. There was, once, a long time ago. There’s a waterfall, and a park.’

      ‘I like waterfalls.’

      ‘There are lots of steps. We can use the lift, if you prefer.’

      ‘One minute you’re telling me not to say I’m old, and the next you’re implying that I’m elderly and infirm.’

      ‘I did not.’ He frowned. ‘That was not what I meant.’

      She laughed at his consternation. ‘I’m only teasing. Come on, let’s go. But we’ll walk.’

      As they weaved their way slowly up the side of the hill, Leonie took in the increasingly breathtaking views of Nice below. At the top, they made their way straight to the viewing platforms.