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city.” I held my hands up. I couldn’t cope with this.
We’d get to why I left and then I’d be a jibbering idiot. “She’s probably not
even living there anymore. She probably went home to her parents.” At least I
hoped so. It was bad enough I had deserted her without thinking of her being
alone.
    Rebecca laid her head back on the sofa. “Will you stay in mine
tonight?” She nodded to her room. “He’s gonna be roaring like a lion until well
past midday.”
    “Thought you’d never ask.” I pulled her to her feet and put the
pizza box back in the fridge.
    “Why did you never look at me like that?” Her words were so quiet,
I wondered if I’d imagined them.
    “I promise you that I have
never looked at any other woman . . . like that.” I linked my arm with
hers. “Trying to explain it makes it even more irrational.” She opened her
bedroom door. “I mean, it was just her as a person . . . the whole package . .
.”
    “What did she look like?” Rebecca pulled back the bedcovers and
patted the pillow down. “And don’t just say French.”
    “Well, that’s what she looked like. Tall-ish . . . olive skin,
long brown hair . . . I guess, sinewy?”
    I cuddled up to Rebecca as she wrapped an arm around me. “What
about her job? What did she do?”
    “At the time, she was training to be in the gendarmerie but she
worked back home, helping her dad in his stonemason’s business too.” Just
talking about her made my pulse quicken with joy. “She could philosophise and
discuss any topic with a passion that invigorated everyone around her.”
    “You’re right,” Rebecca said. “She does sound French. I wonder
what they feed them over there.”
    “Food is a passion for them, I swear.” I smiled, the memory of
lively debates on everything from cooking preparation to ingredient choice. “In
her case a salade niçoise was her favourite.”
    “She ever take you to an Italian?”
    “Yes.” I was not getting sucked into Rebecca’s trap though. “I
can’t remember what we had.”
    “Liar.”
    Her voice was heavy with sleep. I was thankful that probing me had
helped still her restless mind. I had no idea how she coped with being forced
to “entertain” Miss Evans.
    It made me glad that I was off the market. Doug was all I wanted.
It made things an awful lot simpler that way. She was more than likely
married and happy to some model-esque wife who was perfect in every way. She
wouldn’t even spare a thought for me, would she?
     
    THE RAIN HAD decided it would camp out in London for the spring as
the month wore on. Rebecca had been at Miss Evans beck and call which meant
Doug had happily muscled in. He’d been so constant that I was starting to
wonder if he had actually moved in. I wasn’t overawed with finding his socks in
my pile of laundry. When he told me he had to go away for a business trip, I
was guilty of feeling just a tad bit relieved.
    “I’ll be gone a few days at most,” Doug told me as he held me
tightly. “I want to get some things sorted for the centre and I’ll be back.” He
smiled. “Or you could come visit?”
    “I’m busy, sweetheart.” I would be so for as long as I could
delay. Space, space and quiet. Space, quiet, and control of the TV. “Last thing
I want is to be going back there.”
    A frown wrinkled his forehead. “What?”
    “A year was long enough in that place.” I hated lying, but the
closer his centre opening got, the more the panic seemed to warp my thinking.
“Now, if you offered me Paris or maybe Toulon . . .”
    “I thought you loved it there?”
    “I love the memory of it.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “But I
don’t want to revisit the past.” Again honesty, I was on a roll. “I’d rather
make new memories with you.”
    He squeezed me tightly, his kiss more possessive than usual. Did
he want to shove me in his suitcase or what? “We will. I love you, Pippa.”
    Clinging to the hope that he had gotten the hint at last, I
returned his