She’d changed out of the blue dress she’d been wearing all day and into one she’d bought at a stall in the market in Vence only a few days ago, when its lemon yellow had caught her eye, like a ray of sunshine. On closer inspection, the tiny white daisy print on the fabric had delighted her even more, and she’d loved the tiered skirt that fell to mid-calf level, the high waistline and the bra that was built into the smocked bodice with its spaghetti straps. She had left her hair loose with just thin braids at the top to hold it back like a headband, had her ballet flats on her feet and her vintage satchel with its cross-body strap that she’d used for so long as a handbag it didn’t even occur to her to borrow something more suitable from her mother for a dinner date.
No… As she’d pointed out to Sophie in a quick phone call she’d made to save her sanity, this was purely business. It was nothing like adate.
Angus was heartbroken and was very likely to be mistrustful of all women for a considerable time, and as far as Tilly was concerned, she would be more likely to turn down a date with him even if he was the last man on earth. He didn’t have even a hint of romance in his soul. Men could always pretend at thestart, couldn’t they? And then you’d be faced with the reality of a life that was diminished by having a partner who simply couldn’t be bothered making you feel like a princess. The wet towels lying on the floor. The new dress that wasn’t even noticed. The anniversary that was forgotten.
Except…
The soft whisper of the tiny voice in the back of her head, which was reminiscent of Sophie’s tone when she’d told her about the extraordinary request for her company, was all too easy to hear.
…he’s so beautiful…
The statement was true enough to spark a flutter of sensation deep in her belly but trying to stifle it prompted another, slightly louder complaint from that same voice.
Sérieusement? You haven’t had sex in at least two years. You’re only going to be with this man for a few days. Would it really matter if he’s not The One?
Maybe itwasSophie’s voice she was hearing. She’d had a bit to say when Tilly had walked away from her last relationship, come to think of it.
‘You expect perfection, Tilly, but it doesn’t exist. True love can be a messy, unromantic rollercoaster but you know what? If there were no storms, who would really appreciate a beautiful day? It would be “le train train” – same old, same old. Just… boring. And nobody wants boring.’
Tilly managed to banish the memory of her best friend’s admonishment as soon as she could see the red awnings of L’Inoubliable, with candles flickering on the tables and fairy lights in the trees.
Oh,merde… With the daylight fading, as they’d left the airport later than anticipated, it had been a rush to get Angus to his hotel to check in, make the most urgent phone calls and then take the car to her mother’s and jump into the shower toget ready to go out for dinner. If she hadn’t been so concerned with choosing a dress, touching up her make-up and brushing her hair until it shone, she might have remembered that the name of this restaurant – The Unforgettable – had largely come from its reputation for having one of the more romantic courtyards to dine in, with the lights and leafy trees and a view of the gorgeous mossy fountain. She should have made another booking somewhere else, shouldn’t she? Somewhere more… what was the word she needed? Ordinary?
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Tilly made a beeline for the restaurant door to find the maître d’, whom she knew well enough to be confident he would be sympathetic when she explained the problem. He might even have a useful suggestion of where a good place would be for Angus to have dinner. With her, if he hadn’t already given her up as totally incompetent in her task of removing those ‘extras’ he didn’t want to experience.
And fair enough. He’d been more than clear that he wanted his holiday in Provence to be swept completely clean of any trace of romance, and here she was in the glow of hundreds of twinkling fairy lights and background music of classical French love songs. The maître d’ was walking towards her, a smile on his face, a white linen napkin over his arm and a bottle of Bollinger in his hands.
‘Tilly!Ça va?’
‘Ça va très bien, merci, Laurent. Et toi?’
‘Très bien, aussi.’ Laurent was close enough to drop a kiss on both her cheeks. Then he held up the bottle of champagne. ‘C’est pour ton client.’
Oh,no… this wine was forherclient? Her head swerved. Sure enough, there was Angus glowering in her direction, already seated at the best table in the courtyard – the private corner closest to the mossy fountain.
She was too late.
‘Take it back, please,’ she said to Laurent, speaking in rapid French. ‘I was supposed to have cancelled anything romantic. The woman he was supposed to be travelling with to propose to has apparently broken off the relationship.’
Laurent made a sympathetic sound. ‘Consider it gone. I will bring you the wine list.’
‘Oh…’ Tilly had just spotted the in-house piano accordion player arriving, dressed in his tourist-pleasing outfit of a white shirt and waistcoat, a red bandanna and a battered felt hat. ‘And can you cancel the serenade I booked? Please tell Bernard not to come anywhere near our table, if possible.’
Imagine if Bernard came over and started playing something like‘La Vie en Rose’? It would really be the last straw, Tilly thought, walking towards Angus. She would be going to the bank first thing tomorrow morning trying to arrange a loan so that she could refund a very unhappy client.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said as soon as she was within earshot. ‘I hoped to get here before you and cancel the reservation. We can go somewhere else.’
‘Why?’
‘Because this is… unacceptable. It’s…’ Tilly frowned. ‘The fairy lights. The candles? I can find something much more… ordinary?’ Was there a better word to convey that she understood how painful this might be? ‘Unremarkable?’
Angus raised an eyebrow. ‘Boring?’ She was beginning to expect his eyes to narrow like that. ‘Sit down, Tilly.’
It was the second time he’d ordered her to be seated but this time it didn’t sound like the command of an angry man. More like an invitation.
Tilly sat. Slowly. She could hear Sophie’s voice again.
‘…nobody wants boring.’
