Her Mediterranean Makeover. Claire BaxterЧитать онлайн книгу.
pulled out a wallet. After opening it, he gazed at it for a moment before turning it so that Leonie could see two photos. ‘My son. Antoine.’
She leaned forward to get a better look, and saw a boy who obviously had Jacques’ genes. ‘Oh, gosh, he looks just like you.’
And being in his father’s arms made it that much more obvious. But as she had the thought she also registered that he was kind of big to be carried by his father.
Shifting her eyes to the second picture, she saw the reason. In this one, Antoine was on his own, and in a wheelchair.
She looked up. ‘He’s cute. How old is he?’
‘Ten. These photos were taken a year ago.’
She nodded. ‘And the wheelchair?’ She could have ignored it, but that wasn’t in her nature. Her question was straightforward because she wanted to know the answer.
‘Spina bifida. He has no feeling in his legs.’
‘I see.’
‘And to answer your other question…’ Jacques paused, and put his wallet away before continuing ‘…I was married. Antoine’s mother left while he was still very young. We were divorced twelve months later.’
Leonie’s jaw dropped and for a moment she stared at him. ‘She left?’
He nodded. ‘She couldn’t cope.’
‘Couldn’t cope? But surely you could have got help?’
‘Yes, yes.’ He waved a hand. ‘It wasn’t the work involved, it was…’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘She was a perfectionist. Everything in her life had to be one-hundred-per-cent perfect. In her eyes, Antoine was…defective.’
‘Defective?’ She spluttered the word, then pursed her lips for a moment. ‘Oh, my, I think it was better that she did leave if that was her attitude.’
‘Exactly.’
Leonie blew out a breath. ‘So, is it just you and him now?’
‘We live with my mother and my brother. It wouldn’t be practical for the two of us to live alone. Some aspects of Antoine’s care require more than one pair of hands, especially now that he is growing older and heavier. I couldn’t manage him on my own, and, besides, I have to work.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘At the risk of sounding…what is the word? Soppy. He is the most important thing in my life.’
‘It’s not soppy. I mean, yes, that’s the right word, but I understand completely. Like I said, I came very close to going home because I miss my two so much.’
‘What stopped you?’
Would he be shocked to hear that he had? Probably, but it was true. Not because she had any silly ideas about him, just because it had done her heaps of good to make a connection, however small, with another human being. It was such a relief to know that she didn’t have to spend her entire stay feeling lonely.
‘I didn’t want to give up on the course.’ That was true too. ‘I might not be very good at it, but I do want to improve. It’s supposed to be a really good course. It uses all the latest audio-visual methods, and language labs and so on, but I just feel left behind.’
He made a sympathetic sound.
‘Maybe it’s an age-related thing. If I was younger, I might be more receptive to it. I studied French at high school and I did quite well there, so I thought I’d be able to pick it up quickly. But that was a long time ago, and I was wrong.’
She sighed. ‘I wish I could speak it as well as you speak English.’
‘I’m sure you will, but it takes real-life practice.’ He drank some coffee and watched her over the rim of his cup. ‘Anything worth doing takes practice. Lots of it.’
Now, what had made her read a double meaning into his perfectly innocent words?
The fact that he’d maintained eye contact a little longer than necessary?
She dismissed the nonsensical thought, quite sure he hadn’t meant anything beyond what he’d said. And he was right. ‘I shouldn’t be speaking English now, should I? I should make an effort to talk to you in your own language. That’s the only way to get practice, isn’t it?
‘The thing is, whenever I try to speak to anyone here in French, they smile indulgently and proceed to speak in English. It’s…humbling. I’m obviously very bad at it.’
‘Don’t think of it as humbling, think of it as a compliment.’
She gave him a sceptical look.
‘No, really. They are pleased that you have made the attempt, so they are returning the compliment by saving you the trouble.’
‘Oh.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll never get any practice, then, will I?’
‘You can practise on me.’
She tilted her head. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Are you sure I’m not keeping you from anything?’
‘Not at all. I would have been here anyway.’
‘But you would have been reading your newspaper and I’m stopping you from doing that.’ She flapped a hand at it. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise. I have enjoyed hearing about your family.’
‘Really?’
His lips twitched. ‘Really.’ He waved a hand to bring her attention to the newspaper in front of them. ‘Eh bien, let’s begin. Look, there is an interesting story here on page two.’ He pointed it out. ‘What do you think of that? Tell me in French, if you will.’
She smiled before bending her head. ‘Sure, but it will take me a while to read it.’
‘I can wait.’
They read in silence for some time, then discussed the story. With Jacques’ encouragement and lots of laughter, Leonie stopped feeling embarrassed about her mistakes—and there were plenty of them—and started to enjoy herself, certainly a lot more than she’d enjoyed the lessons at the school.
They went on to discuss more stories, partly in one language, partly the other. An hour had gone by when Jacques announced that he had to leave.
Disappointed but determined not to show it, Leonie asked brightly, ‘Back to work?’
He nodded as he rose to his feet.
‘Do you mind if I ask where you work?’
Smiling, he said, ‘Do you know the restaurant La Bergamote?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. Are you the chef?’
He shook his head. ‘The owner.’
‘Oh. But if you own a restaurant, why do you come here for coffee? That’s a coals-to-Newcastle thing, isn’t it?’
‘A what?’
She shook her head. ‘Figure of speech. It just seems a strange thing to do.’
‘It’s a tradition. I enjoy the walk and I like to see my friend.’ He glanced towards Jean-Claude. ‘Also, it’s good to get away from tourists, just for an hour or so between lunch and dinner.’
‘And today you’ve had to put up with me,’ she said with a rueful grimace. ‘I won’t bother you again. I’ll let you enjoy your coffee in peace in future.’ She meant what she said, but she was already imagining how lonely she’d be without their conversation to look forward to.
‘No.’ He frowned. ‘Please don’t. I will look forward to seeing you here again.’
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