opened the bottle and poured wine into both their glasses. Then he whipped the cloth off another bottle stood on the side of the table. It was exactly the same wine Emma had bought. She let out a laugh.
‘Great minds think alike,’ she said, sipping some of her wine.
‘What?’
‘It’s a quote. No one knows who first said it.’
‘Is it the Chaucer?’ Guy inquired.
‘Oh no. It’s far too straightforward for him,’ she said.
‘You like pâté?’ Guy asked.
‘Oh yes. Did you make all this?’
She took some bread and covered it with a thick spread of pâté. She sunk her teeth into it and savoured every sense as it travelled over her tongue.
‘Non. I have a… friend?’ he tested.
Emma nodded her head.
‘He is chef at the restaurant,’ Guy explained.
‘This is gorgeous.’ She swallowed her mouthful and had a large swig of wine.
‘Demain… I have to… essai de football,’ he started.
‘Your trial. With the football team in Nice,’ Emma guessed.
‘Oui.’ He drank some wine and looked across the table at her.
‘Are you nervous?’ Emma guessed.
He nodded and reached for her hand.
‘But you’re brilliant. I don’t know much about football but you play so well and they’ll see that,’ she said, squeezing his hand.
‘There are many people. Many people are good,’ he told her.
‘But you really want to play for them. You’re passionate about the game. The children here love it when you teach them,’ she continued.
‘I have to be good. I have to get place in the… équipe.’
‘You will. I know you will,’ Emma said with confidence. She could see from his expression that this trial was a big deal to him. He was hanging all his hopes on it.
‘But if you don’t…’ she started.
‘I have to, Emma. I need to… for Luc,’ he said. He withdrew his hand to take hold of his wine glass.
‘I know you want to look after your brother but your mother… it’s her responsibility and—’
‘She cannot. She does not…’ He shook his head hard and distracted himself by buttering some bread. He was upset. She didn’t want him to be upset. Not when he had arranged this perfect meal in such a beautiful setting for her. She cleared her throat and held her wine glass up.
‘I believe in you. And if this football team can’t see the best player in the world standing in front of them tomorrow then they’re idiots… on skis,’ Emma stated.
He raised his head to look at her. His eyes brightened.
‘To Guy Duval,’ Emma toasted. ‘Bonne chance pour demain.’
He raised his glass, leaning forward to touch hers.
‘Salut!’
‘To us,’ Emma translated.
As their glasses met she felt her whole body fill up with a warm, tingling sensation. It struck her like a thunderbolt. She’d never been this happy. He really understood her despite the language barrier. She’d told him all about her life, her mother, her books and he got it all.
She looked up. She watched him eat his bread, wiping his long fingers on the napkin. He was perfect. But could it last?
Chapter Twenty-One
Present Day
He’d been watching the door and every time it opened he’d held his breath. When she finally walked in it felt as if his heart had stopped beating. She was here. He was stunned. Had he really thought she wouldn’t come? He’d wanted to believe but… his heart kicked back in. The thudding, drumming, slightly-out-of-sync beating moved from his chest up into his throat as he watched Emma shake her arms, ridding her skin of the rain.
She lifted her head, scanning the restaurant as the manager approached her. She looked unbelievable. So beautiful. She was still every inch the girl he fell in love with in La Baume. He stood up.
‘Bonsoir, madame. Do you have a reservation?’ the restaurant manager asked her.
‘Yes… well, no… I’m meeting someone. Duval. He will have booked under the name “Duval”,’ Emma said. She shook the bottom of her blouse and droplets of water fell onto the tiled floor.
She lifted her head and it was then she saw him. He was standing at the very rear of the restaurant, gazing over the other tables and diners, directly at her.
*
‘This way, madam,’ the manager said, holding his hand out in direction.
She wasn’t ready. She was here, he was here but she wasn’t ready for this. Her stomach rotated and she sucked in a breath. Her feet wouldn’t move. The manager was looking at her. She needed to do something. She tightened her grip on her bag and mentally gave herself a talking to. You are not seventeen.