‘Well, I think some things you do and some things that people say, they stick with you so hard that you don’t need to write them down to recall them.’
She thought about Luis eating his bowls of soup for his lost loved ones. She hadn’t needed to refer to any notes to remember the look on his face, to recall the sadness in his voice, to smell the humidity in the air of that restaurant. And it was those things that had made her story stand out. Sounds, smells and sensations sold stories, not the hard facts. She needed to remember that.
‘I bet you have many photos where you live,’ Jacques continued.
‘The pictures of people I care about make me happy.’
‘Disagree.’ She felt his fingers move gently up her neck.
‘It’s true.’
‘And in these pictures of the people you care about, are they smiling?’
‘Of course!’
‘So it’s their smiles that make you happy. You don’t need physical paper evidence of what their smiles look like. You feel it. You know it by heart.’
And as his fingers traced her hairline at the back of her neck, it was no longer her head that was aching. His words, spoken in that deep, slightly husky tone, were suddenly sliding up to the locked gates of her heart and demanding the key. He was right. Everything he’d just said was so absolutely true.
Then, suddenly his touch left her and she snapped her eyes open. He had stood up, was pacing towards the window. She watched him, hands on his hips, lengthening his torso. But it was his mind she wanted more of an insight into. There was a depth to Jacques Barbier, an emotional intelligence he kept hidden for some reason. Article or no article, while she was here she needed to know what made this man who he was.
‘It’s warmer today,’ he commented, looking outside. ‘Still minus figures, but we could go out.’
‘Is there anywhere to go except Saint-Chambéry that doesn’t involve a full-on road trip?’ She got to her feet.
‘You need a story, right? In case the reindeer does not arrive.’
‘I do,’ she agreed.
‘I might have something,’ he said. ‘If you have boots.’
‘I have boots,’ she confirmed.
‘Good,’ he answered, nodding. ‘Then we shall go.’
22
‘Tommy won’t take Erin on that motorbike, will he?’
Orla had wanted to make it clear to Tommy and her sister before they’d left the two alone in the house that there would be no riding of any kind. However, as she’d had to change twice, adding more layers, when Jacques had told her it was still minus four degrees, she had missed her opportunity before the two of them had disappeared off to the cinema room. Now they were out in the elements, already a long way from the cabin, hiking through the snow, upwards, towards sheer mountain faces that Orla very much hoped they would not be traversing.
‘He definitely would,’ Jacques answered.
‘What? No. We have to go back. Or call him.’ She had already turned around in a circle, mentally deliberating what to do.
‘Relax, Orla,’ Jacques said. ‘This is why you have a headache. The motorbike is now locked up. Tommy does not have the combination.’
‘OK,’ Orla said, taking a deep breath. That was one of the riding options dealt with. The other she really didn’t want to discuss with Jacques.
‘And Tommy, he is… respectful. Despite the smart mouth.’
‘Oh, OK.’ Why her cheeks were responding like they had been placed in a griddle pan she didn’t know.
‘You did not think about that? Two teenagers alone in a house?’
‘No, I mean, yes, I did. I just wondered if they might fight or shave each other’s eyebrows off before they, you know, thought about anything else.’ She sighed as they continued to walk. ‘And Erin has this situationship online she seems very invested in.’
‘O-K.’
