‘The what?’

  ‘Bricolage. A hardware shop.’

  ‘Ah… No wonder that’s a word I never added to my vocabulary.’ Laura gave a huff of laughter. ‘I have zero interest in DIY.’

  ‘Can you see how shiny they are now?’ Ellie was holding her phone over the tiles. ‘It’s amazing what you can see when you look closely. The variation in shading is astonishing.’

  ‘You’ve done a great job. I like the stone wall that’s getting exposed, too. I think it’s about time we took some photos and started the advertising campaign.’

  ‘But there’s still so much to do.’ Ellie found she was fighting a wave of something that felt like alarm. ‘I’ve still got a huge list. I’ve got Mike the plumber who’s said he’ll come back soon with a builder friend to look at all sorts of small jobs like repairing that shutter. I haven’t started on the front garden, and the glazier hasn’t even been yet to put in the new window upstairs. It’s not ready. It might take weeks longer.’ It suddenly struck Ellie that she was nowhere near ready, either. She didn’t want to even think about the house being sold yet. About having to leave. ‘There’s a boundary fence that needs fixing as well.’

  The boundary fence between herself and Julien…

  Okay, maybe that task would be better left for as long as possible.

  ‘That’s okay. We’ll just photograph the bits you’ve done. I need a meeting with Noah, anyway. We’re making good progress on the brochure, but there are some things I want to see for myself.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Ellie wasn’t listening properly, however. By shifting her gaze just a fraction, she could see those pots by the fireplace. She knew that crumpled ball of paper was still in one of them, a reminder that she had been irresistibly drawn back to doing something that she loved. Something that was a part of her and not simply a way to make a living.

  ‘Like the Rosary Chapel in Vence that Matisse considers to be his greatest work,’ Laura said. ‘There’s a mosaic work in the cathedral done by Chagall, and did you know that one of Vence’s claims to fame is that it has the smallest cathedral in France?’

  ‘No. I didn’t know that.’ Ellie’s feet seemed to be moving without any instructions from her brain, taking her towards that set of pots. She pulled the crumpled ball of paper from the pot and put it on the table so that she could smooth it out.

  ‘So—’ Laura cleared her throat, signalling a brisk change of subject. ‘There’s a good reason for me to pop over, just for a day or two. I’ll let you know when I’ve scheduled it. There’s a useable spare bed in the house, isn’t there?’

  ‘Mmm… well, there’s a bed, but it’s very small.’ Ellie could feel a knot of anxiety forming in her belly. She hadn’t been in that room again since she’d slammed the door shut. If Laura wanted to use it, she’d have to force herself to go in there and clean it up properly. ‘The window needs fixing, too,’ she added hurriedly. ‘And there’s just a board there to keep the bats out at the moment. I’ll give Mike a call tomorrow and see if I can speed up the glazier coming.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Do you want me to clear that room out and see if I can buy a bigger bed?’

  ‘No… don’t do that. It’s a good marketing move to have a room set up for kids.’ But Laura’s hesitation revealed that she understood exactly why it would be hard for Ellie to sort that issue. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she added, quickly. ‘I’ll sort that room when I come. I can always sleep on the couch,’ she added. ‘Or go back to that little hotel we used in Vence. In fact…’ There was an uncharacteristically dreamy note in Laura’s voice now. ‘I think I might rather like to stay there again.’

  Ellie let her breath out slowly. Maybe she should feel hurt that her sister didn’t really want to sleep under the same roof, but she was too grateful that she wasn’t going to have to deal with that room. She could already feel that unpleasant knot beginning to unravel.

  ‘We do need to get the window fixed, though.’ Laura sounded crisp and organised again. Back to normal. ‘It would be great if you could find the time to have a go at that wilderness of a front garden, as well. I can see a great photo op with your bicycle propped up on the stone wall by the front door – maybe with a bit of the iron gate in the shot too. Just to make it a bit arty, you know?’

  ‘Aye…’ Ellie was smiling. Not at the thought of contrived ‘artiness’ in a photo, however. She had completely forgotten about the upstairs room because she was looking at her watercolour sketch of the lemon tree branch, with its leaves and fruit, and the carefully crafted words that danced on the paper around it. To her surprise, it didn’t feel threatening any longer. In fact, she liked the way it made her feel. As if there was a tiny piece of her own soul smudged into this crumpled sheet of paper, which was how she’d always known whether what she created was something she could be proud of.

  ‘Anyway…’ Laura’s tone suggested the conversation was being wound up. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Ellie was ready to go, too. ‘I’d better get started on everything that needs doing before you arrive. I think I’m going to be a wee bit busy.’

  ‘Can you manage? It’s not going to be too much, is it?’

  ‘Au contraire,’ There was satisfaction to be found tossing in a French phrase. ‘I think I’m ready for a bit more of a challenge.’

  Because a challenge would mean less time to think about other things.

  Like having to leave this place sooner rather than later.

  Like handing over Pascal for someone else to look after him for the rest of his life.

  Like Julien…

  It was proving disturbingly difficult to stop thinking about her.

  Julien knew he should apologise. Again. But not for being impolite this time – quite the opposite, in fact. He’d been too… warm? He’d held Ellie in his arms because the urge to comfort her had been overwhelming.

  She was far more courageous than he’d given her credit for. When that choking child had recovered consciousness and cried out for her mother, Julien had been aware of a sharp pain in his own chest – as if his heart had cracked wide open, even though he knew perfectly well that that was a medical impossibility. It seemed as if he could share what Ellie had to be feeling in that moment. It made no difference that her own son had not been old enough to start calling her Maman; it was the meaning of the word and the darkness that would always be there for her, having lost something so precious.

  It was the word that she’d heard from his own son when she’d been holding him in her arms. And, on top of all the huge emotions that were already there, the word had been a cry of victory for a small girl who had come terrifyingly close to death.

  Ellie hadn’t run from facing such a difficult situation. She’d embraced it. She could have coped with it all without any support from anyone else and, if he hadn’t offered her that comfort, she probably wouldn’t have cried in front of anyone. But he couldn’t have not held her then. The urge to offer that comfort, the need to protect, had been as powerful as any he ever felt for Theo. Or Theo’s mother.

  The people he loved the most.

  That said something about the attraction this woman held for him, which made it imperative he didn’t get too close, but what had he done then?

  He’d very nearly kissed her, that’s what he’d done.

  Merde… It was no wonder that Ellie had been so eager to get away from him. Why she seemed to have been avoiding him since then. Or was he avoiding her? The end result was the same, in any case, and was probably for the best for both of them, but it was frustratingly difficult not to be thinking about her. He’d caught glimpses of movement at the small house, and it wasn’t just Ellie who was busy working there. He’d heard the sounds of hammering when he’d come home for lunch and the shouts of masculine voices. He’d seen the vans of tradesmen parked further down the road and, on one occasion, heard the drift of laughter that he could swear included the sound of Ellie’s voice.

  She was getting on with what she was here to do – bringing that old house back to life. And then it would go on the market to be sold and she would go back to Scotland and vanish from his life. Julien could forget about her. Perhaps he could also forget the shame that came with the knowledge that he’d come so close to taking advantage of a distressed woman. Nearly kissing her in a way that would have had nothing at all to do with comfort and everything to do with sheer physical attraction. Perhaps even more than mere physical attraction?

  That was a disturbing thought.

  He’d been blown away by understanding how courageous Ellie was and the glimpse he’d had of just how much she was capable of caring. She had a generosity of spirit that made her seem completely trustworthy, but, thanks to bitter experience, Julien knew better than to rely on his impressions when it came to trusting women.

  He could, however, trust his instinct in feeling the need to apologise in some way. For his own pride, he wanted Ellie to know that he hadn’t been trying to use a tense situation to try and seduce her into something she had no wish to happen.

  Except…

  There’d been a moment there. A long moment that was not only imprinted on his memory but, when he recalled it, also felt in his body as an odd tingling sensation that started in his gut and reached the very tips of his fingers and toes. It was not a sensation that he recognised, but it was not unpleasant. Far from it. It was like a mix of anticipation – excitement even – and… hope. For what, he had no idea.

  Hope for the future, perhaps. For life in general and for the ability to trust again?

  Just a moment. No more than the space of a few heartbeats, but it had been enough to see, or possibly just feel, something he hadn’t expected to see.

  Ellie had wanted him to kiss her.

  And, if they’d both wanted it to happen that much, maybe it was inevitable that it was going to happen.

  Maybe just once would be all that was needed.

  To find out if there was a reason why it seemed so very important.

  11

  It was Bert the builder who suggested breaking the padlock securing the stable door of the shed in the front garden of La Maisonette.

  He’d turned up with Mike the plumber to tackle the list of handyman jobs that needed to be done, and both men were in the kitchen as Ellie made a pot of tea to go with the lunch she was providing. Their attention was initially caught by the huge bowl of lemons on the table.

  ‘I’m thinking of making some limoncello,’ she explained. ‘I just need to find out where I can buy a bottle of 95 per cent alcohol.’

  ‘You’ll have to go across the border for that,’ Mike told her. ‘But it’s easy to buy in any pharmacy or supermarket in Italy.’

  Ellie’s breath came out in an amused huff at the idea of finding the time for a day trip to Italy. She led the way out to the terrace. ‘It’s just an idea.’

  ‘I’ve got a mate who lives down south. I’ll see if he’s coming up this way and he could bring you some.’

  They talked about selling the house as they ate cheese and ham baguettes.

  ‘It’ll sell fast,’ Bert said. ‘It’s got a garage, which is a big plus on narrow roads like this one. Like hen’s teeth around here, garages are.’

  ‘It’s just a shed,’ Ellie said. ‘The door is on the side, in the garden.’

  Mike shook his head. ‘I reckon that ivy on the road end is covering one of those metal tilt doors. Or maybe an old wooden one. It’d be worth uncovering that.’

  Ellie laughed. ‘Thanks. I’ll add it to the list.’

  ‘We could take a look inside while we’re here,’ Bert suggested. ‘I’ve got bolt cutters. Big ones. They’d cut through that padlock like it was butter.’

  ‘Only if you’ve got the muscle to use them,’ Mike laughed. He flexed an undeniably impressive bicep. ‘Reckon I’d better do the cutting.’

  Ellie topped up the mug of tea on the wrought-iron table in front of Bert, who was half Mike’s size and probably a couple of decades older. He was also a craftsman builder, and he’d just finished expertly repairing the broken shutter and stopping the basement door from catching when it was only half open. Ellie was more than happy with his work, and she smiled at him now.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she said. ‘I could get a new padlock with a key from the bricolage. It would be nice to have somewhere safe to store my bike outside, although I’m still not sure it’s big enough to be a garage.’

  ‘And it might have a fair bit of stuff in there already,’ Bert warned. ‘Sheds like that often get used for storage if people rent out their houses over summer.’

  ‘I don’t think this house has been lived in for a long time,’ Ellie told them. ‘But it might explain why I haven’t found anything personal here. No photos or books or… I don’t know…’ She shrugged. ‘Drawers full of letters or old birthday cards or whatever.’

  ‘No time like the present.’ Mike drained his mug of tea and grinned at Ellie. ‘I’m getting curious myself, now. Shall we go and see if there’s a family skeleton or two in the shed?’

  Oh… he had no idea how close to the bone that phrase actually went. Did Ellie want to discover family stuff that had an unwelcome genetic link to her own family? In a way, it had been a relief not to find anything personal in the house, because it might have included a glimpse into her father’s life and stirred up old memories best left undisturbed.

  Except those memories had already been disturbed by the inheritance of this property from her father’s brother, hadn’t they? And the shed would have to be cleaned out prior to sale, anyway. As a bonus, this was a new distraction. Despite the energy she’d been devoting to the renovations, it seemed to be getting harder to keep her thoughts from straying back to Julien. To stop herself imagining what might have happened if she hadn’t panicked and pushed him away so fiercely. To think about the path that a single kiss could have led them both down…

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  Pascal got up from the shady corner he’d found under the tree and followed Ellie as she led the way through the house and into the front garden.

  While Mike and Bert went to fetch the bolt cutters, she busied herself pulling ivy away from the door hinges and pushing aside any new doubts about whether this was a wise thing to do. For heaven’s sake, the shed was probably empty.

  It wasn’t, of course. Why would anyone have used such a heavy-duty padlock to secure an empty shed? What was inside wasn’t what any of them were expecting, however, and they all entered the shed to have a closer look.

  It was a car. One that Ellie recognised, thanks to an ex-boyfriend who’d been a car fanatic.

  ‘It’s a Citroën, isn’t it? A 2CV?’

  ‘Sure is,’ Mike said. ‘In great condition, too.’

  It was possibly the cutest car Ellie had ever seen. Bright red – almost the same shade as her bicycle, with headlights sitting on top of the front mudguards, like eyes.

  ‘Be worth a bit,’ Bert added. ‘Even more if it still goes.’ He opened the driver’s door and climbed in. ‘The key’s in here.’ He turned it but there was not even a sigh of response from the car. ‘Dead as a dodo,’ he declared.

  ‘Prob’ly just needs a new battery,’ Mike suggested. ‘I’ve got a mate who’s a mechanic. I could get him to come and have a look if you like?’

  Ellie was tracing the slope of the bonnet with her fingers, leaving tracks in the thick layer of dust. Stroking the protruding headlight was irresistible, too. ‘I don’t need a car. I can get everywhere I need to on my bike.’

  ‘What about the beach?’ Mike was edging around the little car to get to the passenger side. ‘Or a trip north to see the lavender and sunflower fields in bloom in a couple of weeks?’

  Mike’s enthusiasm was contagious, but it wasn’t persuading Ellie to learn to drive on the wrong side of the road. Instead, his words were creating images in her head of picturesque scenes, like a field of lavender in full bloom, that Laura would be thrilled to include in her advertising of the house. Even this little car, washed and shiny and parked in front of the stone cottage, would be eye-catchingly charming. It could be included as a chattel, perhaps, in which case it would need to be in working order.

  ‘If getting it going is as easy as putting in a new battery, it’s a good idea,’ she told Mike, turning away from the car. ‘But I don’t want to drive it.’

  Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light that was such a contrast to the bright sunlight outside, and she could see garden tools like spades and rakes and hedge clippers in a corner, piled against an old hand mower. Beside the useful-looking tools was a set of shelves cluttered with objects and boxes, and there was an antique-looking rocking chair almost buried in piles of dusty books.

  Personal stuff…

  She drew in a deep breath. Did she want to go any closer? No… but her hand was reaching towards the closest pile of books.

  It was Bert who broke the silence. ‘Can’t muck about in here all afternoon,’ he announced. ‘I’ve got that rotten board in the bathroom floor to replace, and if I don’t get it done today, goodness only knows when I’ll be able to get back. There’s too many people who want jobs done yesterday at this time of year, what with so many Brits opening up their holiday homes.’ He gave the car a last, lingering glance. ‘Always liked these,’ he nodded. ‘Tin snails, we used to call them.’

  Ellie picked up a book. It was just a book. Nothing personal. And how good would it be to turn real pages instead of scrolling to read on-screen?

  ‘What does 2CV stand for?’ she asked. She tucked the dusty book under her arm and stepped towards the open stable door before she changed her mind and put the book back.

  ‘Deux chevaux-vapeur.’ Mike’s French accent sounded impressively good. ‘Literally, two steam horses.’ He was blinking as he followed Bert and Ellie out into the garden. ‘About as much power as a decent-sized lawnmower – which is something else you could do with, come to think of it.’