Her Mediterranean Makeover. Claire Baxter

was important to her, and she wanted it to continue because it was making her time here in Nice so much more enjoyable. A visit to the flower market would have been interesting on her own, but not nearly as interesting as it had been with Jacques. And he’d promised to take her to see a château, which was a treat she hadn’t expected to experience.

      So, yes, she wanted to continue to be friends with Jacques, but from now on she was going to ignore her attraction to him. Friendship was going to be the only thing on her mind. She wouldn’t allow those silly hormones to dictate how she felt about being in his company.

      ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Leonie,’ Jacques said when he finally approached the small table.

      ‘No problem. I can see that you’re busy.’ She hesitated, head tilted, while he sat down, then said, ‘What do you actually do? I mean, I know you’re the owner, but there’s a chef and a maître d’…’

      He laughed. ‘You make me sound superfluous.’

      ‘No, no…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m interested, that’s all.’

      He gave a small shrug. ‘A restaurant is a business. It needs managing. Someone has to worry about recruiting the right people to maintain a standard, about keeping the dining room full, about paying the bills.’

      ‘Of course. I never thought about it. I’ve never known anyone who owned a restaurant before.’

      ‘Also, I like to meet the customers. We have regulars—some have been coming here for many years. It is only polite to greet them personally and assure them that they are welcome, don’t you think?’

      ‘Oh, absolutely, but you said many years…How long have you owned the restaurant?’

      ‘It has been in the Broussard family for a long time. My grandfather started it, and he left it to me when he died. It’s one of the most popular restaurants in the region.’

      ‘Oh, how wonderful. You must be very proud of it.’

      He smiled and gave a single nod. ‘I am. And now, what are you going to eat?’

      She slipped on her reading glasses. She’d already looked at the menu, which was in both French and English, but she still didn’t know what to choose. ‘It all sounds so lovely. I was hoping you might recommend something.’

      He pointed out a few recommendations, then leaned back and made a subtle sign to the head waiter, who hurried over to them.

      Leonie smiled at the immaculately dressed waiter and carefully pronounced her selections in French.

      Jacques nodded his encouragement. ‘Would you like me to order the wine?’

      ‘Yes, please.’

      Jacques spoke rapidly to his employee, who inclined his head in agreement before collecting the menus and hurrying off.

      ‘So,’ Leonie said, ‘why hasn’t a nice man like you been snapped up?’

      He turned a puzzled gaze on her. ‘Snapped up?’

      ‘Why haven’t you remarried?’

      ‘Ah.’

      He said no more and his silence made her stomach tighten. ‘Or have you?’

      Not that she should care. Hadn’t she just told herself there was nothing between them but friendship?

      ‘No. No, I have not.’ He lifted his eyes to meet hers. ‘But I came close. It was a bad time, and I haven’t told anyone else about this.’

      She could believe it. In her experience, men didn’t talk about personal stuff, especially where pain was involved. She sat up a little straighter, conscious of an intense curiosity. ‘How long ago?’

      His eyes flickered away, then returned to her face. ‘Around four years ago.’

      Ridiculous to think he wouldn’t have been tempted to marry again. And, of course, he would have had plenty of opportunity, a man as goodlooking as him, a man who, as far as she could see, had everything going for him.

      He looked down at his place setting and moved his cutlery a millimetre or so. ‘It didn’t work out.’

      ‘Can I ask why?’

      He met her eyes. ‘Antoine.’

      With a little shake of her head, she frowned. ‘He didn’t like her?’

      He gave her a crooked smile. ‘On the contrary, he adored her.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say? My son has inherited my poor taste.’

      ‘Then…?’

      ‘She, it turned out, saw me as…’ he looked up, frowning, and seemed to be searching for words ‘…a meal ticket is the expression, if I remember correctly.’

      Leonie nodded, then bit her lip as she waited for him to go on.

      ‘When I explained to her that I would want Antoine to move in with us after our marriage, and live here in Nice, just the three of us, she decided I wasn’t such a good bargain. I think she’d expected that he would stay with his grandmother while we lived the life of a childless couple here in Nice.’

      ‘Oh, Jacques.’ She couldn’t help herself; she reached for his hand where it lay on the table.

      ‘For me, I suppose I was lucky to find out what she was like before it became too late, but for Antoine it was heartbreaking.’

      Her heart ached for both him and his son. ‘But surely he didn’t know the reason—’

      ‘No, no,’ he said quickly, his expression horrified. ‘But even so, he took her rejection personally. He was already attached to her, and believed she would be his stepmother.’

      Leonie pursed her lips. ‘Poor darling.’

      ‘I can’t let that happen again. He is a very sensitive boy.’

      After lifting his empty wine glass and examining it, he said, ‘Well, there’s no chance of it happening again anyway. I’m too old to think about marriage now. I’ve been single for too long. Any relationships I have will be…casual.’ He shrugged. ‘No need for Antoine to know about them.’

      The glass made a small thud on the tablecloth as he put it down. Like a full stop for the conversation. And with perfect timing, the wine waiter arrived.

      After tasting the sauvignon blanc, Jacques nodded his approval and both glasses were filled.

      Leonie took a sip from hers and smiled. ‘It’s lovely. Good choice.’

      Jacques smiled back. ‘I thought you would like it.’

      Casual relationships were a mystery to her; she didn’t understand why anyone would embark on one. But then, she’d been lucky.

      Jacques had his reasons, the main one being his belief that he was doing the right thing for his son, but she wasn’t sure it was the right thing for him. It did seem sad that he’d never know the contentment of marriage. His first marriage didn’t count. She shouldn’t judge his ex-wife without knowing her, but it was hard not to assume that she was a horrible person. What kind of mother would leave her child like that, and for such a reason?

      Her entrée turned up then. The endive in the tarte tatin had been caramelised until it was as sweet as an apple, but there was a lingering sharpness that contrasted with some creamy goat’s cheese.

      She wasn’t a bad cook herself. She recalled the repertoire of nutritious meals she’d prepared from scratch, never failing to have a hot plate of food ready for the table when the family came home.

      But when Shane had become sick, cooking had slipped down her list of priorities, especially as Sam and Kyle were happy to grab something while they were out, and she’d made do with a sandwich. She’d started cooking in earnest again over the last year or so. The kids might be fully grown, but they still needed