Her Mediterranean Makeover. Claire Baxter

guess so.’

      ‘I will be devastated if you are not here.’

      ‘Devastated.’ She laughed. ‘Yeah, right.’ But she appreciated his kindness. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

      He smiled. ‘Good.’ With a nod at her and a wave for his friend behind the counter, he swung his jacket over his shoulder. She couldn’t help noticing that he was quite solid, masculine. Not big, but even through his white shirt she could tell that he was well defined, strong-looking.

      By the time he’d left, Leonie was feeling happier and more relaxed than she had since she’d arrived in France.

      Jacques walked away, wondering whether he’d gone mad. He usually had to know people quite well before he told them about Antoine. He certainly never discussed his ex-wife. So, why had he opened up to Leonie that way?

      Leonie had been surprisingly easy to talk to. His intention at the start of the conversation had been to make her feel comfortable so that she would relax and talk to him, but she had been the one who’d made him talk.

      Well, in fact, they had both talked, and he now knew about her husband. He wasn’t sure whether she was over him yet. And he’d learned about her children. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he enjoyed hearing about them, but it was what her words told him about her that he’d enjoyed most. Her pride in them had been tangible, and pleasing.

      He was going to take pleasure in helping Leonie to learn his language.

      On Saturday, Jacques strode towards the café. He’d met Leonie each afternoon for the past three days, but today he was late. He lengthened his stride a little more. He did not want to miss her.

      Just as he’d had the thought the café came into view and he saw Leonie walking away from it, in the opposite direction.

      He called out to her, breaking into a jog. When she looked back and saw him, she didn’t appear angry or irritated as he’d worried she might. Instead, she gave him a broad smile.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said when he reached her, more pleased to see her than he had any right to be. ‘I couldn’t get here sooner.’

      He stopped to draw breath and Leonie touched his forearm in concern. ‘What happened? Is everything all right now?’

      Her sincere expression touched him too, but inside, throwing him off balance.

      ‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ he said, recovering his equilibrium. ‘Did you get my message?’

      She nodded. ‘Jean-Claude told me you’d been held up. That was thoughtful of you, to call the café. When it got so late, I decided you weren’t coming at all today.’

      ‘I wasn’t sure I’d get here in time. Where are you going? Back to your apartment?’

      ‘No. I’m staying over there.’ She gestured vaguely. ‘Not far from Place Garibaldi, in Rue Saint Augustin.’

      It struck him that they’d come a long way in a few days. At the beginning, she wouldn’t have told him where she lived, which was good—he didn’t like to think of her being vulnerable to unscrupulous people who might take advantage of her kindness. She didn’t deserve to be ripped off. But today, she hadn’t hesitated to reveal her address…as if she trusted him.

      The thought gave him a jolt.

      ‘I was just going for a walk,’ she said. ‘Nowhere in particular.’

      ‘May I join you?’

      ‘Yes, of course, but are you certain you wouldn’t rather go back?’ She pointed to the café. ‘Don’t you want a coffee?’

      He shook his head and turned in the direction she’d been walking, adjusting his steps to match her shorter ones as they set off.

      ‘It was one of my kitchen staff,’ he said. ‘She has been having problems with 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