Rosie smiled gently as she said, “My father always told me ‘when in doubt don’t’ — it’s always worked for me, so personally I think you did the right thing today. Why are they so keen to buy you out? Is it the land?”
“Partly — but it’s also our list of scents. We have one or two of the big names and a whole library of original perfumes just waiting to be bought by fashion houses. Any day one of them might call up with an idea, a ‘look’ or an image and we can offer three or four perfumes for them to choose from. My venerable grandmère is absolutely amazing at this. She is what is called ‘un nez’…a nose. I know it sounds funny in English!”
“No, no…I’ve heard about it — like wine tasters or something. So she creates a scent and then what?”
“Well, if the fashion house choose one from our collection, then bingo — the contract is drawn up and we have a new client. It is all totally top secret — from the actual recipe right down to customer confidentiality. Once it’s signed up it’s good business, especially if you get a big name and a perfume that is marketed well. Then there is the side of the company that markets essential oils, both importing exotic fragrances and extracting and distilling from jasmine, mimosa, roses, lavender and herbs, of course…being Provence. We have two centuries of experience and an excellent reputation that Beauroma, that’s the big boys here in Eze, is longing to get its hands on. I’m sure they would run it all very commercially and exploit the tourist attraction with coach trips up to the Disneyed château…tour guides…a job for me there!” Jean-Michel smiled apologetically. “Isn’t this where we came in? I’m really sorry to bore you with all this but I did try to warn you.”
“It’s not boring at all. It’s a fascinating business but I can see it must be a great worry.”
“It wouldn’t be so difficult if half my life wasn’t still in London,” replied Jean-Michel.
Suddenly he reached across the table and took her hand in his. Rosie felt her stomach somersault. This was it. He was going to tell her about his wife and kids. Of course, they were in London and that was why he had said he travelled frequently to and fro. Rosie’s heart thumped painfully as Jean-Michel leaned towards her, offering her a spoonful of the profiteroles from the pyramid piled in the silver dish between them. He watched her lips as she opened her mouth and tasted the explosion of dark rich chocolate and cream on her tongue. Rosie was melting inside. Never had she been so attracted to a man. The dark side of her didn’t want to know about his wife and kids. He began to talk again and Rosie had been so far away in her own fears that she missed his first words.
“…and so I must visit my grandmother tomorrow and tell her about the latest developments. Now, let’s return to enjoying this evening. Would you like a coffee here or would you prefer to get back to Nice and we could find a café on the promenade?”
“That would be perfect,” Rosie answered automatically.
“So much perfection in one evening is good for my soul!” said Jean- Michel softly.
They walked slowly back down the cobbled street to the village square, holding hands lightly. When they reached the car park, Jean-Michel directed Rosie to an old Peugeot estate that was parked near Zara’s Jeep. Once again he opened and held the door for her as she jumped in. Rosie sighed, settling back into the old leather seats with pleasure, thinking how easily she could get used to this.
The drive back along the coast was another scene from a film. Jean-Michel’s old Peugeot estate, redolent with floral scent, rolled slowly along a road that hugged the coast. Jean-Michel drove with one arm casually along the back of Rosie’s seat and the other elbow resting on the open window. The air was warm, the moon was full, the stars bright. Jean-Michel gently turned the car into a lay-by that hung over the sea edge. Rosie burned with excitement. This was it — now he must kiss her and hold her in his arms. Jean-Michel opened his door and came round to her side of the car.
“You must see the view of Nice from here — it’s really stunning. Your taxi probably took the Moyenne Corniche, high above the coast, but this little road is just as direct and ends up in the port. Look, you can see the boats in the harbour from here.”
“Yes!” she murmured, not thinking about what she was saying but every fibre of her body tingling in anticipation. “I’m sure you’re right — it was certainly high up above the sea. I felt quite giddy when I arrived in Eze!”
Not as giddy as I feel now, she thought to herself. They were standing so close she could feel the heat from his body on her bare arm. She obediently looked down at the large bay. It was certainly impressive. Large liners, private launches and a thousand lights reflected in the still dark water. She sighed as she felt him move behind her and, with his arms around her waist, pull her firmly towards him. The words fell from her lips.
“But what about your wife?” She pulled quickly away from him and, turning, saw his handsome face filled with anguish.
“Wife?” Jean-Michel repeated the short single word and it hung in the air above them.
“Yes, your wife in London…” Rosie was almost in tears as she felt the perfect evening crashing around her. Never had she felt such desire, never had all her emotions been so aroused and yet she felt like hitting him as she watched his face struggle with emotion.
Finally he spoke. “I don’t have a wife! Whatever made you think that I did?”
Rosie, reeling in shock, turned back to stare at the view, blurred now by the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She felt his arms move tentatively back around her waist as he gently kissed the back of her neck. She spoke again, her voice choked with a sob. “Jean-Michel, are you sure?”
This was so ridiculous that suddenly they were both laughing and kissing at the same time. Then he broke away from her and said, “What about you? You’re not married, are you?” He was smiling but his eyes were anxious.
“No, not at all!” She opened her eyes wide.
“Rosie, Rosie, you are so beautiful…si belle! Please don’t open your eyes any wider or I shall drown in them.” Jean-Michel began to kiss her ardently. His arms ran down her back as he pulled her hard against his body, engulfing her in himself. He was breathing faster, murmuring her name over and over. “Rosie, Rosie — I have found you at last.”
A great peace suddenly settled into her and she raised her arms, arching away from him as she gently cupped his face in her hands. “And I have found you, Jean-Michel. I knew it when I first saw you.” She ran her fingers through his strong dark hair and her mind flashed back to that moment at the airport when she had longed to do just that.
Somehow they drove on to Nice. He parked in a small street in the old town and there was no question between them that she was going to spend the night with him. He took her hand and led her into a dark, marble entrance hall and up endless flights of stairs to a small oak door on the top landing. He slid an enormous key into the lock and threw the door wide. “Welcome to my home!”
He went ahead of her, turning on light after light, illuminating the vast attic flat. Finally, he pressed one last switch and a large blind slowly rose revealing a panorama of the old town of Nice against the backdrop of the moonlit Mediterranean.
“It’s magical!” She gasped, running over to the balcony, and then he was behind her again, his arms encircling her, his head buried in her hair as he nibbled her neck. She turned to him and began to unbutton his shirt. Suddenly they were pulling at each other’s clothes, panting and gasping