The lad leaped forward, reaching for the bicycle, and shrugged. ‘Gone to get his bag, maybe?’
‘Ok. Bring the bike and ask Trevor to check the warning boards.’ He waited for the lad to take the handlebars, then, steadying her at the waist, held out his other forearm to Evie. ‘Hold on to my arm. It’ll keep you steadier.’
‘Thanks.’ She took the arm gratefully and, sheltering her eyes from the low rising sun, insisted, ‘I don’t need a medic. It’s a graze that’s all.’ As she stepped forward she felt weightless after all the muscle power she’d used in the last few minutes. She certainly appreciated a strong arm to prevent her legs buckling though, and his was definitely that. But then her senses began to return. She frowned as she looked up to him. ‘What warning boards? There were no signs on the path. Oh, a bollard. There was a… What’s going on?’
‘There are signs up to warn the public that this is a working film set,’ he said leading her slowly across the remainder of the bridge and on to the road the other side of the canal bank.
Evie wiped her nose. ‘Too right there should. Those horses sprang up from nowhere. Jesus. At least cars have brakes!’ she burst, but then tried to recall. She hadn’t seen the signs, if she had, she wasn’t paying them any attention. She’d been thinking about bloody Seb. She squinted and lightly shook her head. All she could think was, she had never been so close to death, and she was desperate to sit down. She could cope with a throbbing in her leg.
As they neared a canal-side café, a shorter man with thinning hair came towards them whilst another man carrying a white case with a red cross ran up from behind. Evie clung to the stranger’s arm, leaning on him as he halted.
‘Trevor, could you check the warning boards around the set. I’m not convinced they’ve been displayed correctly. Check every entrance to the bridge, check that they’re up and in the right place. I don’t want them on film.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
He turned to the younger man with the case ‘Carl, we’ll just sit her down here.’ He pointed to the café.
Carl, who Evie assumed to be the medic, spoke quietly, his eyes a piercingly light grey. ‘I saw what happened. Ben was fast. Tell me about any pain you have?’
‘Only a graze and shaking. I’ll be fine. Bit shocked I suppose.’
‘Understandably.’ The medic’s voice was calm and trusting… unlike his eyes.
Evie frowned and peered back up at the darker, more handsome stranger the medic called Ben as they ambled towards the empty cafe. ‘So, what? You’re filming a period drama or film?’
‘Well that was a rehearsal. We have to re-surface the bridge for authenticity but yes.’ The man smiled down at her, the proximity of his luscious full lips – revealing beautiful teeth – unleashed a gasp from her own, now numb and parched. She wanted to look away but found herself mesmerised. Unlike the cold of the medic’s eyes, Ben had the warmest seductive eyes which, she could hardly believe, stirred dormant flutters inside her. Something Seb Wilde rarely did nowadays on his sporadic visits.
Evie felt her cheeks glow.
He broke the stare and looked ahead, seemingly ignoring her reaction. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we sit down. That was our production co-ordinator, Trevor, who I hope will now ensure it doesn’t happen again.’
‘It shouldn’t have happened a first time. I could have been killed.’ Evie’s senses were becoming clearer and her tone rattled. She was sure no signs were at the bridge entrance. She remembered a bollard. Of course, this wasn’t a normal occurrence on the bridge. Since when did horses and a coach rumble over it?
‘So, are you in charge here?’
He scooped his fingers through heavy locks. ‘I know it shouldn’t have happened. I agree. I’m extremely concerned. I suppose the producer takes overall responsibility but I can’t apologise enough, believe me.’
Then Ben stopped under a canopy on the café terrace. She was surprised it was open so early He pointed to a front table.
‘There’s a good spot. Let’s get you seated.’
The medic raced ahead towards the table.
As piqued as Evie felt, it was hard to be angry with him. He was hardly to blame, when she was the one not paying enough attention and, not only had he helped save her but he was surprisingly attentive. She gazed at him as he took her elbow, he had soothingly seductive eyes. Oh, but… hadn’t she fallen for that surface charm before. Of course, he was being polite out of guilt, to sweeten her, just as Seb… exactly like Seb. She swallowed and stood firm.
Now feeling embarrassed, she loosened her grip and shuffled in front of him and, feeling her legs re-align, she decided she was capable.
‘Look, it is only minor damage. I think, I’ll head straight back.’
He pressed his hand lightly on her other arm. ‘Please, I suggest you sit down and recover from the shock, besides, that bike isn’t rideable. I’ll take you home. Let me at least get you a drink and make you comfortable, it’s important that you are ok. The bike I can replace.’
Evie’s eyes turned from his gaze to the table again. She stepped back to let him lead. ‘Five minutes then,’ she said, scraping back her hair with one hand and toying with her thoughts. She followed, noting his wide shoulders as they weaved through empty dining tables. His navy polo shirt hung loose but she imagined his spine curving to his trim, belted waist… her eyes trailed downwards to his sexy taut behind and perfectly proportioned legs. What was she thinking? Evie scolded herself as she approved the designer watch on a strong forearm; she’d just experienced the nastiest drama of her life, so how was it possible she could even think about a man in this way?
‘I’m Ben by the way,’ he announced as they came to a stop at a table. The waiter laid serviettes, while the medic arranged the chairs.
‘Sit down here,’ the medic instructed with a long pointed finger.
Ben swung round and as she lifted her gaze, dark-lashed eyes roved her face then fastened on her own eyes for several seconds, firing rapturous ripples through her veins. Belatedly she took his hand and shook it.
‘I’m Evie,’ she managed, clearing her throat, the sun glinting between them.
‘Delighted to meet you, Evie,’ he said, his lip curling up at the edge. ‘Tell me what you would like to drink?’
‘A cool orange juice, please. I feel in need of sugar.’ Evie said, sitting back to savour the view. The trembling began to subside. Wasn’t it bizarre that just moments ago, she’d been staring death in the face and now, suddenly, here she was, on a beautiful dawn, in a café she had longed to visit, with a very handsome stranger who was making a film. Surreal came to mind. This was a somewhat fortuitous treat. She had never sat at this beautiful canal-side café before. Perhaps she was dead; witnessing herself being seated in a sumptuous chair, admiring the enchanting Capestang Bridge and the Canal du Midi from this angle, rather than perched on a rough-grass bank with a sandwich, gazing enviously at the diners.
Carl laid his bag on a chair and reaching in, lifted out a small box.
‘Is it ok if I take a look at that injury?’
‘It’s just a little sore. Bruised maybe?’
‘I’ll clean it up and have a look. Put your leg up here.’ He tapped a chair opposite her, took out a small packet and, tearing off the top, slid an antiseptic wipe between his fingers and knelt down, dabbing her wound.
‘It’ll be fine.’ Evie couldn’t decide if a doctor was really necessary. Painful and bloody as it was, the damage was nothing more than grazing, she was sure.
She