“That sounds great,” said Jenna. “I especially enjoy sight-seeing that you can do sitting down.”

  “You’ll like this bit, too,” Eleanor said, pulling the brochure out of her handbag and peering at it. “It looks like we stop off at a couple of vineyards along the way.”

  Jenna clasped her hands together, “It just gets better and better.”

  Eleanor led the way down to the riverside where they caught the boat and spent the rest of the afternoon on the water with occasional sallies onto dry land. After a couple of miles, they landed and were led to a kind of barn where smiling young people in smart black aprons offered them tiny samples of local wine. The sisters each bought some. At the next stop, they tasted some more and bought a couple of bottles.

  Walking back to the hotel at the end of the trip, Eleanor tested the weight in her hands. “I think we may have overdone it with the wine,” she said, wondering how she would fit it in her luggage.

  “Nonsense,” said Jenna. “It will make lovely gifts for Kiff and our new friends in Chevandier.”

  “That’s true,” said Eleanor. “And if our bags are too heavy to lift onto the train, we’ll just have to drink the wine first.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Jenna, bursting into giggles. “No pun intended.”

  “I think we need coffee.”

  That evening, they had another early dinner at a pizzeria on the corner by their hotel. Eleanor had a restless night, wondering what the next day would bring. She awoke early and was up and ready by 7am. She left her sister sleeping and went out for a walk by the river before breakfast. Later, they both went for a wander around town, but all through the rest of the morning Eleanor felt as though they were just killing time until lunch.

  As promised, Thomas came to collect them from the hotel promptly at 2pm to drive them to the Vauban family home. Looking at him in daylight Eleanor could see that he resembled his father around the mouth, but had the fine features and grey eyes of his mother. “He’s going to break a few hearts,” were Jenna’s words of wisdom.

  As the road climbed out of the city and wound up into the hills away from the river, the air got hotter and stiller.

  “Wow, look at that,” said Jenna, as they drove past huge fields full of sunflowers.

  Thomas smiled. “We are not far away now.”

  A little further up on the left, there was a modest wooden sign at the entrance to the vineyard with the family name decorated in vine leaves. They drove down a rough earth track past rows and rows of vines clinging to steep slopes. Thomas explained that they were mainly Syrah grapes from which his grandfather made the Côte-de-Rhône that they had sampled at Chez Christophe.

  “Of course grandpère makes other wines, too. You will taste them later!”

  He parked the car by an old barn and escorted the sisters to a stone farmhouse where a long table was set out under a shady veranda. Two dusty brown dogs of indeterminate breed lolloped over to greet Thomas, who wrestled with them enthusiastically.

  Christophe came out of the house with a huge grin on his face. Beside him was Rosanne who looked cool and elegant in a green print dress. “Welcome to Château Vauban,” she said smiling, and shooing chickens from beneath the table. “I hope you don’t mind that we are a little rustic here.” She smiled again. “Can you excuse me while I finish lunch? Please have a drink and relax. It won’t be long.”

  “Come, come and sit down,” said Christophe. Thomas unseated a scrawny grey cat and dragged chairs over to the table. “Please, sit,” said the young man. “I will tell my grandparents that you are here.”

  “I feel like I’m in a commercial for olive oil,” whispered Jenna under her breath. “Do these people really live here?”

  Eleanor smiled and nodded. “They come here at weekends and for holidays. It’s the old family home. I believe that Christophe’s father grew up in the farmhouse. I remember hearing about it, but I never came here.”

  They could hear pans crashing somewhere inside the house then old Madame Vauban appeared in the doorway, followed by her husband carrying two bottles of red wine. It had seemed unlikely that they would remember her, so Eleanor was touched by the warm reception she received from the now-elderly pair whom she had not seen for so long.

  Elena came out next, carrying a tray laden with crisp green salad, blocks of homemade paté, chunks of salami and fresh baguettes, which she set on the table. Monsieur Vauban spoke barely any English, so Eleanor translated for Jenna as he told them the history of the house and the vineyard, and explained how his wine was produced. Madame nodded and smiled, correcting her husband when he got something wrong.

  In the background, Christophe flitted to and fro, bringing out plates and glasses. Although Eleanor tried to concentrate on Monsieur Vauban’s story, she couldn’t help glancing over at her former lover. She reddened as she framed the word in her head, and Jenna caught her eye, making her feel even guiltier.

  Thomas returned with a tray of ice cold glasses on an enamel tray. “Ooh, this is lovely,” said Jenna, sipping the pale pink liquid. “What is it?”

  “It is called pineau des Charentes,” he said, “and it’s strong so take care!”

  Just then Rosanne appeared with a roast chicken on a pile of potatoes, all cooked in garlic and rosemary. “Please, dig in,” she said, in immaculate English.

  Christophe went around the table filling glasses with different types of wine which Jenna and Eleanor duly peered at, swirled around and sniffed before tasting as Monsieur Vauban looked on with evident amusement.

  Lunch, which finished with juicy peaches and hunks of local cheese, was delicious and conversation flowed in a mixture of French, English and Franglais, much helped by the wine-tasting. Rosanne and her husband told the sisters about the business and their hopes that Thomas and Elena would continue to run the restaurant and the vineyard as their grandparents had done. Eleanor told them about her children and the shop, and Jenna made them laugh by describing life with Keith and the extended family, including Connie and Harold.

  “That was a fabulous lunch,” said Jenna, rubbing her belly appreciatively. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”

  Rosanne waved her hand, as though it was nothing. “You are most welcome.”

  “Let me help you with that,” said Eleanor, starting to collect assorted dishes.

  “No, please. You are our guests,” said Rosanne, taking the dessert plates from her hands. “You stay there and talk to Christophe,” she said, shooting a look across at her husband. “I’m sure that you have a lot of catching up to do. Jenna would you like to see the house?”

  “Oh, I’d love to!” Jenna gave Eleanor a meaningful wink as she followed Rosanne into the shady kitchen. Monsieur and Madame Vauban also went into the house, miming that it was time for them to take a siesta. Elena excused herself too, jumping on a moped and setting off to visit her boyfriend.

  Sitting there alone with Christophe, Eleanor suddenly felt tongue-tied and shy. He grinned and pulled out a pack of Gitanes. “I don’t suppose you smoke any more? All my English customers seem to have given up.”

  She laughed. “I’ve given up several times,” she replied, taking a cigarette, “but this is a special occasion.”

  As Christophe lit her cigarette, then his own, she studied his face. He was still incredibly handsome. She blushed as he caught her looking at him. They sat in silence for a moment, smiling at each other, enjoying the moment.

  “This is such a gorgeous spot.”

  “Yes, we are very lucky,” he said, finishing his coffee and yawning. “I think that I must take a walk or I will fall asleep. Would you like to come with me? I will show you the view.”

  “There’s more to see?”

  “Why yes of course,” said Christophe, as he stood and pulled back her chair. “Come.” They left the patio and he led the way along a path that went around the back of the farmhouse and through a small uncultivated area where the ground was scrubby and rough underfoot. The dogs ran alongside them, occasionally zigzagging off in search of lizards in the undergrowth. To begin with the way was hot and dusty and there was nothing much to see apart from the stony ground and a few ancient olive trees. From time to time as they climbed the hill, Christophe took Eleanor’s hand to steady her. After ten minutes she was beginning to wonder whether he was joking about the view but when they turned a corner, the vista opened up and she found herself gazing down past the red-tiled roof of the farmhouse at rows of grapevines in neat, serried ranks. On either side were dark green fields that rolled down the hill to the river and the edge of Chevandier.

  Christophe turned and smiled proprietarily, spreading his arms out towards the view. “Et voila!” He led her to a rough wooden bench under a gnarled old tree and beckoned her to sit beside him. “It was worth the climb, I hope?”

  Eleanor, dusty and slightly breathless from the walk, nodded in agreement. “Yes, it’s stunning.” And so it was. The late afternoon sun intensified the colours of the landscape that was spread out in front of them. There was no noise except for the ‘crick crick’ of crickets in the long grass, the complaint of distant goats and a chatter of birdsong.

  They sat there for a while then Christophe wandered off to look at the view, humming an old song, and throwing sticks for the dogs. Eleanor closed her eyes, and leant back against the tree trunk luxuriating in the sensation of the warm breeze on her skin and the scent of pine trees in the air. The effects of the lunch and the wine had made her drowsy and she was about to nod off when she felt a sudden weight on her knee. She opened her eyes in surprise to see that the dogs had thrown themselves down beside her in the shade and one of them had rested its big shaggy head on her lap. Christophe strode back towards her, his hands in the air in mock guilt.

  “Orson, bouge! I’m sorry, but my dogs find you irresistible!”

  “How flattering,” she said, laughing.

  He shooed the dog away. “They have very good taste.”

  “You are teasing me now,” Eleanor said, laughing and trying to untangle her hair, which had suffered from the effects of the dusty walk. “I remember how mischievous you used to be.”

  He grasped her hands, suddenly serious. “I hope we can be friends, Eleanor.”

  “I hope so too,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what that friendship would be like. They shared a past, but now they led such different lives and lived so far apart. They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “I’m sorry that I left you and went back to London,” said Eleanor, surprised by the words that came from her.

  Christophe stood and made a sound like ‘boff’, shrugging his shoulders. “We were very young.” He sat down beside her again and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “But we were lucky to have such love in our lives, don’t you think?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes we were,” she said, putting on a pretend pout. “So you forgive me for leaving you?”

  “Of course,” he said, hugging her. “If you had not gone, I would not have married Rosanne and had Thomas and Elena, and you would not have met your husband.”

  She wrinkled her nose at that. “Hmm, exactly.”

  Eleanor had shared the bare bones of her former marriage over lunch. Now Christophe shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry to say this Ella, but that man is a fool.”

  She felt she should protest and outline Alan’s good points, but before she could speak Christophe had leant over and pressed his lips gently but firmly on hers.

  She put her hands to his face and closed her eyes, revelling in the moment, hoping to store the myriad sensations in her mind: the sweet pressure of his lips, the slight stubble under her fingertips, the wonderful scent of his skin. It was just one stolen kiss, but it was magical and forbidden and neither of them wanted to be the first to pull away because they each knew that there could never be another one.

  All too soon Christophe drew back, caressing her hair and smiling at her. “I should say sorry for kissing you, but that would not be true.”

  Eleanor felt the same, even though she knew it was wrong. She put a finger to his lips, partly to silence him and partly to stop him kissing her again, much as she longed for him to do it. She knew that she should feel guilty, sitting there under the tree, kissing a married man, but she couldn’t. At that moment, all she felt was happy. Seeing herself reflected in Christophe’s eyes, she felt desirable again.

  After a while Christophe got to his feet and stretched out his hand to her. “Come. Let’s go back to the house. Everyone will wonder where we are.”

  Jenna will be desperate to know what we’ve been up to, thought Eleanor as she took Christophe’s hand and they descended the path together, back to their families and their real lives.

  After they had all said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch, Thomas drove them back to the hotel so it wasn’t until they were ensconced in their rooms that the sisters were able to talk about the events of the afternoon. By this time, Jenna was desperate to know what had happened between Christophe and her sister.

  “So, tell me all. You were gone for such a long time that I was worried Rosanne would think you’d run off together.”

  Eleanor smiled enigmatically, she hoped. “Well, we had a lovely walk and a chat.”

  “A chat? Come on, El. Confess – did you have a snog?”

  Eleanor tried her best to look offended. “A ‘snog’? You can be so crude sometimes.”

  “Okay. A kiss then?”

  Eleanor was savouring the memory and gazed dreamily out across the balcony to where the elderly gents were playing boules and gossiping, as they did every evening. She said nothing as Jenna grew increasingly frustrated. As an elder sister and a maths teacher, she was used to people giving her straight answers.

  “Well?” she said, after a moment.

  Eleanor turned away from the balcony, suddenly serious. “Rosanne has got nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh,” said Jenna, who appeared quite deflated. “So nothing happened, then?”

  “I wouldn’t say that nothing happened. I’m just not going to tell you about it.”

  “Now, that’s not fair! You drag me all the way over here, make me drink my body weight in red wine, then refuse to share the juicy gossip.”

  “I had a lovely day and I hope that Christophe and I can be friends, but that’s all.”

  Jenna looked disappointed. “Shame. I was looking forward to visiting you in your lovely French farmhouse.”

  “I’m no femme fatale,” said Eleanor, laughing, “And certainly no home-breaker.”

  Jenna nodded in agreement. “I know.”

  “Which is not to say that Christophe doesn’t still fancy the pants off me.”

  “Woo-hooh! That’s more like it.”

  “And we did have a kiss, but that’s top secret!”

  Jenna crossed herself. “Your sordid affair is safe with me.”

  Eleanor smiled and gave her a hug. “Thanks Jenna. You’re a pal.”

  That night Eleanor slept like a log, happy to have spent some time with Christophe and to have discovered that he still found her attractive so many years after they had first met. She was also pleased to discover that by going back to London she had allowed him to create a happy life with Rosanne and the children. As she fell asleep, it was with a contented smile on her face.

  Chapter 10: Confession time

  On Tuesday, the sisters had their final breakfast at the hotel, waved a fond farewell to their suite and lugged their cases into a taxi and back to the railway station. They both agreed that it had been quite an adventure, and a successful one at that.

  Back in London, Keith was there to meet them at the Eurostar terminal and whisk them to the house in the evening.

  “You’re very quiet,” he said to them once they were settled in the living room with mugs of tea. “Pleased with yourselves but quiet.”

  Eleanor and Jenna exchanged glances.

  Keith stood there with his arms folded, waiting. “What have you been up to?”

  “Sorry Kiff, I’m sworn to secrecy.”

  Keith looked suspiciously at his wife. “You must have had a very good time if you won’t even tell me about it.”

  “It wasn’t me, it was her,” said Jenna, pointing at Eleanor.

  “Thanks Sis. Actually Keith, I saw an old flame and . . .”

  “And?”

  “And he was gorgeous,” said Jenna, “but married, and they had a kiss, but that’s all. Oops! And now Eleanor will kill me because I’ve told you.”

  “I didn’t really expect you not to tell Keith,” said Eleanor, smiling.

  Keith sat down on the sofa, one arm draped over his wife’s shoulders. “Kissing a married man, eh? I’m not sure I approve of that.”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds Keith, honest,” said Eleanor.

  “Okay I’m all ears.”

  “Me too!” said Jenna.

  Eleanor ran through the story of how they’d met Christophe and Rosanne in the restaurant and about the wonderful lunch at the vineyard with all the family.

  “And then we went for a walk and he kissed me,” she said, blushing. “But that was all, and I really don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”

  Keith looked serious for a moment. “It doesn’t sound as if too much harm was done.”

  Eleanor felt a pang of guilt as she remembered the look on Rosanne’s face when she and Christophe had arrived back at the patio, obviously happy in each other’s company. When they were all saying their goodbyes, Eleanor had squeezed Rosanne’s hands and thanked her in a way that she hoped made clear that her husband was quite safe from her clutches. Eleanor had seen the tightness around Rosanne’s mouth relax and recognised that Christophe was probably not the easiest man to be married to.

  “I’m sorry to say it, El,” said Jenna, “but I fear the divine Christophe is probably a bit of a love rat.”

  Eleanor laughed at the description, but had to agree.

  “Yup, you’re probably right. He is lovely to look at but I’m not sure that I’d like to be in Rosanne’s shoes.”

 

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