No. Tilly had just found something even better and it was one of her all-time favourites. She paired her phone with the Bluetooth speaker, turned the volume up and let Bryan Adams do the talking for her with his ‘Everything I Do…’
And Angus liked it.
As they left the gorge behind them and he let Alfie off his leash on the straight sections of the road they were both singing along to ‘Summer of ’69’, and then Tilly risked Bon Jovi but started with ‘Living on a Prayer’ before sneaking in ‘Always’.
Making a joint playlist was also romantic but she wasn’t going to mention that to Angus.
Petits pas. Baby steps.
* * *
It was early evening by the time they drove up a long tree-lined driveway and arrived at the main building of the Château Saint-Martin, a luxury five-star hotel on a hilltop overlooking the medieval walled city of Vence. The reception area opened onto a terrace that had a stunning view of Tilly’s hometown, with the cathedral tower dominating the skyline.
The Château Saint-Martin had been a Knights Templar estate in the twelfth century and some ruins of the original castlewere still to be found in the extensive grounds and manicured gardens.
Tilly had booked two nights here for Angus and Moira but the carefully curated itinerary had been thrown into disarray yesterday, so she’d had to cancel the first night in the private villa. Maybe that was why the doorman and receptionist were so delighted to welcome them as they arrived.
‘We were so disappointed you couldn’t be with us last night.’ The front-desk receptionist sounded sympathetic. ‘What a shame you had trouble with your car.’
Angus and Tilly shared a glance and she felt the heat ignite, deep in her belly. It was no more than a graze of eye contact but it was both an invitation and a promise and Tilly instantly let go of thinking that perhaps she should go back to her apartment tonight.
Angus was clearly not of the opinion that it was a shame they hadn’t reached Vence last night and neither was she.
If they hadn’t had the trouble with their car, they wouldn’t have ended up in the olive-grove cottage.
They wouldn’t have ended up in bed with each other.
Tilly might have ended up not breaking her moral code about casual sex, and she would never have entered a world she’d assumed was no more than a fantasy conjured up by the writers of steamy novels and the creators of impossibly romantic movies.
‘We managed to make the most of the delay,’ Angus said. ‘But we’re very happy to be here now.’
‘And we were happy that you let us know in good time that you wouldn’t be here. We were able to give that room to other guests. If you would like to stay an extra night, that can be arranged.’
Their bags were taken and Alfie was whisked away for garaging and they were shown to their accommodation bythe concierge. They walked downhill along stone pathways by terraced gardens, past an outdoor dining area, where silverware and crystal glasses were glinting in the last of the sunshine on tables covered with crisp white linen. They passed villas screened by cypress and olive trees and stone walls, and the path narrowed and they could feel the privacy of the space on the other side of the hedging and walls.
The villa was small, stone-built and honey-coloured, with pale blue shutters. There was one bedroom, one living area, a bathroom and a completely private deck and garden area with a pool.
‘There are menus for room service. There is also a hotel shuttle if you wish to explore the options in Vence and include wine with your dinner. Just come up to the reception area.’
Angus shared another glance with Tilly, who nodded decisively. She couldn’t wait to show him everything she loved about her hometown.
‘Thank you.’ He slipped a folded euro note into the concierge’s hand. ‘I think we will take advantage of that very soon.’
* * *
Thirty minutes later they were standing on a footpath in the centre of Vence – with the Grand Jardin, the central square, framed by magnificent plane trees on one side of the main road and a line of restaurants and bars on the other, with outdoor seating areas that were already busy with tourists on summer holidays.
It was a very warm summer’s evening but Tilly had changed into her yellow dress after a cool shower and felt refreshed. There was a game of boules happening in one corner near the fountain, around which a couple of small children were playinga game of chase that was making them shriek with laughter. A busker was playing a saxophone near the parking area for motorbikes – fortunately some jazz music and not ‘Fly Me to the Moon’.
‘It’s got a nice vibe here,’ Angus said. ‘Feels alive.’ He was smiling ‘What are you going to show me?’
‘What would you like to see first? The tourist attractions, like the most picturesque street? Matisse’s chapel won’t be open now but we can see that tomorrow. And the cathedral.’
‘Show me where you grew up,’ Angus said. ‘And where you went to school. Where’s your favourite place to walk and your favourite restaurant?’
Tilly blinked. She hadn’t expected that. He wanted to know about her life? About her favourite things? This suddenly felt very personal.
It felt… like a date.
