‘Cheeky? Like impudent?’
It was a new word for Tilly and she liked it.
‘Oui. He’s cheeky.’
‘I’m guessing you’ve already decided on his name?’
‘Too easy,’ Tilly said. ‘He has to be Alfie.’
‘I should have guessed that. Alfie it is.’ He patted the steering wheel. ‘Where are we taking him first?’
‘To the bridge,’ she said. ‘The Pont du Galetas.’
A few minutes later, Tilly pointed out the signpost for a parking area and, while he put the roof back up again, she had a quick scroll on her phone. While she knew the area well and exactly where she was going to take Angus for their picnic, she was supposed to be doing the job of a professional guide as well as being his companion, wasn’t she?
And Tilly wanted to excel in fulfilling both her roles, so she was ready when she led Angus onto the bridge. They were by no means the only people standing on the side, leaning on the railings to take in an extraordinary view of the gorge and the river at its base, making an astonishing, turquoise-blue path that narrowed until it disappeared behind a curve between the towering cliffs.
‘So, this is the Gorge du Verdon,’ Tilly told Angus in her best professional guide’s voice. ‘It is about twenty-five kilometres long and it’s seven hundred metres at its deepest.’
Angus raised an eyebrow. Could he tell she was just parroting what she’d found on Google?
They both leaned over the railings to watch the happy summery activities below, with the chaos of paddle boats going in all directions, kayaks trying to avoid them and people swimming at the edges or sunbathing on rocks.
Tilly gave up trying to sound like a guide and carried on with what she knew herself. ‘The gorge starts up at a town called Castellane and it ends here, where it opens to the lake.’
Angus followed her example, straightening and then turning to the very different landscape that could be seen on the other side, in between the tourist buses and cars going across the bridge – a peaceful lake edged by beaches and rolling forested hills rather than the rocks and barren cliffs of the gorge.
‘That’s the Lac de Sainte-Croix,’ she told Angus. ‘It was formed by a dam built for making electricity. There was a village that got drowned to make the lake.’
‘Really?’ Angus sounded horrified. ‘Did people get drowned too?’
‘No.’ Tilly grimaced. ‘I didn’t explain that well. It was planned. A new village was built for the people and the houses of the old village were demolished before they closed the dam and the flood began.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m not a very good guide, am I?’
Angus looked at her for a long moment. Then he leaned close and, unexpectedly, dropped a soft kiss on her lips. ‘I think,’ he said, as if he was imparting a secret, ‘that you are exactly the guide I want.’
Ohh… Was thedouble sensdeliberate? Did he want her as a guide or did he did just wanther?
Tilly caught her breath as she broke eye contact a heartbeat later when the kiss ended. Maybe she didn’t want to even think about the implications. Last night had been an experience that had made her feel more beautiful, more desirable, morewantedthan she could have believed possible. It might have been a sexual fairy tale but it had felt completely real and, in that moment, she made a conscious choice to believe it because this wasn’t going to last very long and she wanted to cherish the memory of it for the rest of her life.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked. ‘I have a favourite beach at this lake. We could go and have ourpique-nique.’
It was only a short drive from the bridge to a parking area that let them walk down to the shore of the lake at the Plage de Chabassole. The water was crystal clear, the soft ripples from a breeze and boats creating a shimmer. Heat from the sunshine was reflected by the stones on the beach and, by the time they’d walked away from other people, the shade of an umbrella pine was a welcome place to sit.
Tilly was hungry too and she’d justified choosing her own favourites in the boulangerie because it was such classically French food. Simple, but with the best ingredients it became memorably delicious, especially when eaten in a setting such as this.
The baguettes must have only just cooled from the oven before they were thickly buttered and filled with generous slices of ham. The crust crunched when you bit into it, the inside was as soft as a cloud, and the flavour of the ham and the creaminess and tiny burst of saltiness from the butter were all that was needed. Anything extra like mayonnaise or lettuce or even mustard would have only detracted from the perfection of this sandwich.
Angus was closing his eyes as he ate and Tilly could recognise that this was in appreciation.
‘Mmm.’ The sound confirmed her opinion.
That exact sound had tickled the skin of more than one part of her body last night and Tilly felt the need to close her own eyes for a heartbeat. Until that tingle died down enough for her to be able to breathe again. She reached for the small bottle of sparkling Perrier that she had chosen. Angus turned his head, his eyebrows lifted, as he heard the fizz when she unscrewed the lid. He was smiling as she handed him that bottle and reached for the other one for herself.
‘No champagne today,’ he noted.
‘You’re driving,’ she reminded him. ‘And I prefer to stay alive.’
Angus gave a grunt of laughter and turned his attention back to his sandwich. They both ate in a companionable silence until the last of their baguettes had been enjoyed.
