Lines were getting blurred and Tilly knew this was dangerous territory. How easy would it be to fall in love with someone who was this interested in who she was?
Who could make love to her as if she was the only woman in the world that he was interested in?
But, as she pointed out to Sophie in one of their brief but regular text exchanges, how deeply could you fall in love with someone in just a few days?
Especially when you knew you were so different you could never be compatible. And that they would disappear from your life after those few days and never be seen again.
She was simply following a piece of advice that may have been her own but it had sounded remarkably like Sophie’s. She was just having a few days with a gorgeous man. It really didn’t matter that he wasn’t The One.
And surely it wasn’t long enough to get your heart badly broken. Not when it wasn’t going to be any kind of surprisebecause she’d known right from the start that she was walking into a dead-end road. She just needed to remember that, Tilly told herself. And to also remember what could happen when you chose to be with someone who didn’t have a romantic bone in their body.
There would be no glue. No sparkle. No magic.
So why did itfeelas if that magic was all around her?
Maybe it was partly because she was home and Vence had always had a special kind of magic for Tilly.
‘Come this way.’ Without thinking, Tilly reached out her hand and, to her surprise, Angus caught it with his. She led him across the road and past cafés where they needed to skirt the chairs that were edging well into the footpath area. Was that why Angus was still holding her hand? To protect her from someone pushing their chair back to get up, or a waiter coming with trays of food or drinks? If so, there was reason to stop when she turned them into a pedestrian-only street, but her hand was still inside his when she paused by the tree outside the museum.
‘This is our famous tree,’ she told Angus. ‘They say it’s five hundred years old. I believe it’s an ash in English. It’sfrênein French, and this is the Place du Frêne.’
‘And this tree is one of your favourite things?’ Angus raised an eyebrow.
‘I do love this tree but that’s not the only reason I’ve brought you this way. Come…’
She led him on to the paved area across another street, past a huge stone basin with a continuous stream of water from the wrought-iron tap and past the stone table on a pedestal with its mosaic orientation map, not stopping until they reached the stone wall and had the Lubiane valley and thebaousof Vence spread out in front of them.
‘That,’ she said proudly, pointing above the houses on the other side of the valley. ‘That is one of my favourite things.’
‘The mountain?’
‘Yes. They’re calledbaoushere, which are a kind of mountain that has a flat top and comes out from the hills. There are four of them – la Baou des Blancs, la Baou des Noirs, la Baou de Saint-Jeannet and la Baou de la Gaude.’
One side of Angus’s mouth was tilting and he was watching Tilly with an intensity that was new body language she could recognise. He liked listening to her speak in her first language.
How ironic was it that French was one of the Romance languages that had originated from Latin? And that it was also widely considered to be the language of love?
It would be prudent not to remind Angus of that. And to be careful when and where she spoke in French.
‘They all have different faces,’ Tilly went on hurriedly. ‘Like people. The favourite of most people is the Baou de Saint-Jeannet, because it’s the most famous, but my favourite is the Baou des Blancs.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s the one that is looking down on us in Vence and, for me, it’s always felt like we’re being guarded – like thebaouis a faithful dog. And because it has the cross and the star. Can you see the cross right on the top? This is the best time to be able to see it from here because the sun is going down and it shows up like a silhouette against the sky.’
Angus let go of her hand to shade his eyes as he peered up. ‘Yes, I see it. It’s not solid, is it? It looks quite delicate.’
‘It’s made of curls of iron, like the tap for the fountain we just went past. It’s much taller than it looks from here and it’s pretty but the view is even prettier. You can see the Mediterranean and the Cap d’Antibes. On a clear day, you can even see planes landing at Nice airport.’
‘Blancis white, yes? Andnoiris black?’
‘Yes.’ Tilly was laughing softly as she agreed. ‘You did pay attention to more thancacaat school, then?’ She tried to put on a more serious face. ‘But the white and black of thebaousis not about the colours. They were named after the penitents, who were a religious group in the thirteenth century who wanted to make up for their terrible sins. The white penitents have a beautiful chapel in Vence and they had a tradition of climbing thisbaouas a procession every year to demonstrate their penance and devotion, which is the reason for the cross.’
Angus raised an eyebrow. ‘I wonder what their terrible sins were?’
‘Probably the usual,’ Tilly suggested. ‘You know, murder and adultery and theft. Possibly breaking rules like leaving a lake without putting your feet in the water. Or listening to saxophone music.’
The tilt of his mouth acknowledged the private reference but he turned back to the view. ‘I can’t see the star you mentioned.’
