The walk back to where they’d parked seemed to go too quickly and the van was hot and stuffy.
Tilly rolled the windows down to make up for a lack of air conditioning. ‘Shall we find somewhere nice and shady for lunch?’
Angus tapped his phone screen to reveal the time. ‘I have to get a few hours’ work in this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a new client – a Swiss drug company – and there may be a problem with a drug trial they’ve just started. I have a gut feeling it might turn into something rather big so I need to stay well on top of it.’
No wonder he seemed distracted. It was a relief that it was work related and not something she might have said.
‘No problem,’ Tilly said, sincerely. ‘I have things to do, too. Like my emails and shopping and housework.’
‘I’ll take you out to dinner this evening,’ Angus offered. ‘Wherever you like. We didn’t eat at the Château Saint-Martin.’ He was tapping his phone as he spoke. ‘It comes highly recommended. Shall we go?’
But Tilly shook her head, with a smile to soften her rejection of the offer. She wanted time with Angus that nobody else could intrude on, including waiters and the presence of other diners. And she wanted to feed him, with food that she’d cooked herself – with love.
‘I’llmakedinner,’ she said. ‘And I’ll bring it round tonight.’
* * *
Tilly smeared a generous layer of Dijon mustard over the outside of thefilet de bœufand seared it in melted butter on each side before putting into a hot oven. She added a few sprigs of thyme because they reminded her of the walk up her beloved baou.
She used the minutes it was going to take to cook to call Sophie.
‘I’m cooking,’ she told her. ‘Beef stroganoff.’
‘Nice,’ Sophie said. ‘For the gorgeous Scot?’
‘Mmm…’
‘Can’t wait to meet him. I can’t wait to be back in my little house, either. I miss you, Tilly.’
‘I miss you, too.’
‘We’ll be home by Thursday afternoon. Come and visit. It might be a bit chaotic until Maddie’s in bed but then we can spend as long as we like talking about the old days. We can drink wine and I can make my world-famous – in Saint Jeannet – croque-monsieur.’
It was tempting to sink into reminiscence of the late-night toasted sandwiches they’d shared in the more hectic times they’d worked together, but Tilly needed to start making her mushroom sauce. She could hear a baby’s demanding cry in the background, too, along with the low, soothing rumble of a male voice. ‘Sounds like you’re needed,’ she excused Sophie. ‘And tell Luc I’ve got a brilliant idea for my new photos. I’ll tell you both all about it when you’re here.’
She’d sautéed the shallots and mushrooms by the time the beef came out of the oven to rest and she let them simmer in wine before slicing tender pink meat and folding it into the sauce. She would add the crème fraiche later, when she reheatedit in La Maisonette and cooked the fresh tagliatelle that was already packed in her basket.
* * *
It was well into the golden hour before sunset by the time Tilly arrived with her basket at the front door of La Maisonette underneath the fragrant arch of profuse small, pale-yellow roses.
The kiss she received from Angus felt detached, as if his mind was elsewhere, but he followed her into the kitchen and leaned over her shoulder as she lifted the lid on her flame-coloured vintage Le Creuset casserole to check on how their meal had travelled.
‘That smells amazing,’ he said. ‘Is it stroganoff? How did you know it was one of my all-time favourites?’
‘It wasn’t difficult.’ Tilly leaned back into the length of his body as she tilted her head to look up at him. ‘You love steak and you chose mushroom sauce to go with it, the first time we had dinner together. Are you hungry now?’
‘Not just yet.’ Angus stepped away and reached down to open the small under-bench fridge. ‘It’s been a fairly intense afternoon’s work for me. Can we wind down with a glass of wine first? It’s so nice on the terrace at this end of the day.’
It was perfect on the terrace. At this time of the year it felt like the world was turning as slowly as it possibly could, creating a warm, peaceful drift, like a contented sigh to welcome a day’s end. Having a glass of chilled crémant to sip elevated mere relaxation into something more like bliss, but Tilly could still detect a note of stress when Angus spoke.
‘Shall I light the candle?’
‘Which one?’
Angus gestured at the one on the wrought-iron table but then glanced up at the holders hooked onto the branches of the treeabove them and the larger ones dotted around the terrace. The look on his face made Tilly laugh.
‘Ellie does love her candles,’ she said. ‘She might possibly be even more into romance than I am.’
