Finally, Katherine blew out another long sigh and stood up. Her favorite café was across the square.
A creamy café au lait might be just what I need.
On her way, she waved at Beau the butcher through his shop window, another colorful village personality. As well as being a maître boucher, his contagious laugh and long history in town made every visit to his sawdust-strewn shop an occasion for the latest entertaining gossip.
Walking across the square, she paused to read the schedule of upcoming events and watched lights being artistically strung across the ornate bandstand, a replica of one that had stood there a hundred years before.
In spite of Philippe’s reassurances, she realized she was fighting the urge to check over her shoulder as she entered the café.
“Bonjour, madame! Comme toujours?” The owner greeted her from behind the bar.
“Bonjour, monsieur. Oui, merci.”
As she sat at her table by the window, Kat enjoyed the comfortable feeling of such familiarity. She loved how people addressed each other as madame and monsieur. Last names were not necessary. This courtesy was ingrained in the French culture, as she was constantly reminded.
She picked up a copy of the morning edition of Nice-Matin from the newspaper stand by the bar and began working her way through the day’s news. Her French comprehension was coming along, but there were still plenty of challenges. She figured her private weekly language lessons would never come to an end. She opened the French/English app on her phone.
A half hour passed quickly. Without any traffic problems, Philippe would be back at the market by now. He kept a supply of work clothes in their storage locker and would be ready to help Gilles, his good friend and market partner, serve customers in no time.
The melodic chimes of Kat’s cell phone rang as she was putting away the paper and preparing to leave. It was Molly calling.
“I hope you didn’t think I was taking your concerns too lightly last night,” she said without preamble.
“Oh, Molly, you should still be sleeping! Talking to you was the best thing. I can’t thank you enough.”
“I thought I’d be able to call you back tonight, but Tony let me know last night we’ve had to switch days helping at the shelter. I’ve got to buzz over there for the day, and then serve dinner to the crowd of usual suspects. I just woke up for a glass of water and decided to call. Couldn’t stop thinking about your state of mind and also about Philippe’s meeting this morning.”
Molly and her partner, Tony, otherwise known as Father Anthony DeCarlo, organized a downtown shelter for street kids and other homeless people. It was a labor of love they built into their busy lives. Tony, formerly a Catholic priest, had been asked to leave the church when he refused to end his relationship with Molly. Now he was the popular Anglican minister of a large congregation. Molly was a music teacher during the day and featured singer at local jazz club The Blue Note on the weekends.
“Well, that’s a frickin’ nuisance!” she said, after Kat brought her up to date on what was going on with the drug cartel. “But ain’t it the way—just when everything seems to be moving along nicely, boom! There’s always something.”
Molly’s advice was to stay calm and wait until Philippe could share the full story. “Remember, it all ended in a bit of a fizzle last time, thanks to the cops being on the job.”
“You’re right. And I’m on my way to the marché now to meet Philippe to talk more. He should be there soon.” Kat hesitated.
“Okay, so how are you feeling about your jingle-bell jitters this morning?” Molly asked.
Kat snorted. Trust Molly to come up with something like that.
“Somewhat better since our chat, but I’m still struggling, when I let it get to me … ”
“That’s not like you. Hoist those panties, like I said. And do your thing, Katski. I want pictures! We’ll talk next week—unless you decide to have a meltdown, ’cause you know I have to be present for that on FaceTime.”
It took Kat a moment to stop laughing. “Thanks, you! I promise all those things and will send pictures. Now go back to sleep.”
“Will do! Ciao, bella!”
Molly’s call back could not have been timed better. Just what I needed …
She straightened her back purposefully. Her panier on her shoulder, she hurried through the narrow cobbled streets that led to the daily Provençal market. These streets had enchanted and entranced her when she first arrived in Antibes, and still she felt that same attraction, no matter how many times she walked them. It was all part of the inexplicable magnetism that was her love for France. The fact that this country was now her home always gave her goosebumps.
She had learned a lot of lessons about the meaning of the word “home” as she wrestled with moving her life from Canada after she fell in love with Philippe. But, in this technology-powered world that enables people to stay in touch no matter where they live, she could keep her close connections with loved ones no matter where she was.
Home is where my heart is had become her mantra. But from time to time she faltered a little. Transferring your life from one country to another wasn’t always the easiest thing, no matter how badly you wanted it.
There are moments—with language, unfamiliar traditions, missing friends, bureaucracy … No question, having a French husband helps.
The sun was well up now, and the old town was beginning to come alive as shutters were opened, doorways were swept, and greetings were exchanged. Locals, up early to miss the crowd at the marché, were already making their way home with bulging paniers and pull carts.
A few years ago, the carts would not have been seen in such numbers, but their popularity was growing, particularly amongst the elderly. It was another change in the traditional way of life in France that Kat lamented, in spite of understanding that change was often for the better.
Putting on a smile, she tried to appear relaxed. She greeted the vendors she knew so well now and immersed herself in finding what she needed for the day’s menu she had planned.
After checking her list, she stopped first at the selection of greens displayed in their attractive wicker baskets. Then she moved on to other vegetables and fruits. Cheese, of course, would be delivered personally by her favorite fromager, and she would collect the flowers and fish after meeting him for coffee—and reassurance, she hoped.
Kat smiled, seeing the line already formed at Philippe’s counter. She stood back and watched him. A little frisson of pleasure ran through her. His handsome profile and striking dark eyes had not lost any of the allure they’d held for her from the first day they were introduced in Antibes. Sixteen months ago, to be exact, she told herself. The day they instantly realized they actually had met two months earlier in Sainte Mathilde. The memory of that coincidence would never fade.
She admitted often to herself what pleasure she received just from looking at him. Knowing he was as exquisite a man on the inside caused Kat to wonder how she had fallen upon such good luck.
Philippe leaned across the counter toward an elderly gentleman wearing a worn, weathered beret. In his outstretched hand he held a piece of paper on which sat a wedge of cheese. He and his customer engaged in an intense discussion over it. It was a déjà vu moment, right back to that first day. Her smile deepened as Kat recognized the intensity in Philippe’s eyes and expression. It’s all about cheese. He takes it to another dimension.
Plying his trade was Philippe’s passion. No question about that. She admired the pride he took in setting up the displays on his stand, like an artist composing a still life. Cheese was arranged not simply by taste and terroir but also by colors, shapes, and textures. All presented in ways that captured eyes and tempted taste buds.
Gilles waved to Kat. She motioned that he shouldn’t interrupt Philippe and indicated she would be waiting for her husband at the café at the edge of the marché. Gilles gave her a thumbs-up.
As she ordered her second café au lait of the morning, Kat chuckled at how she had gotten used to this coffee drink in France. She still needed to add sugar, but her early yearnings for the café mochas of her years in Toronto had faded.
In a matter of minutes, Philippe had slipped into the chair across the table from Kat. She was studying photos on her phone as he leaned over and kissed her cheeks. Her lifelong hobby of photography had blossomed into something more serious in Antibes. She now exhibited and sold some of her work in a local gallery. In addition, she and Philippe had plans to set up a website about cheese, and she was working on images to use for that.
As Kat looked up, a stray lock of ash-blonde hair fell over her face.
Philippe trailed his fingers along the side of her face, tucking the strand of hair behind her ear before stroking her cheek with his thumb. She took his hand and kissed his palm.
“You’re already worrying about this,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
She nodded silently.
“I’m here to instruct you to stop that immediately,” he said, in a tone Kat recognized as almost teasing. “This is not going to involve us.”
He stopped, raised his eyebrows, and gave her a hard look that said, “Tu m’écoute, minou? Are you hearing me?”
Katherine raised her eyebrows back and asked, “How can you be so certain?”
“Here’s what happened. On a hunch, I called my cousin Denise in Lyon while I was in the inspecteur’s office. At first, Denise pretended not to have heard anything about Idelle since you and I visited Lyon last year. When I told her where I was calling from, she spilled beans all over the place.”
Katherine laughed in spite of herself. “She spilled the beans. That’s good. But what beans?”
Philippe smirked. Kat suspected he butchered some English expressions purely to entertain her.
“Denise confirmed that Idelle had been in touch with her sister, Denise’s mother, who was rushed to a clinic in Paris last month. She is quite ill. However, tests are still being done. Denise hadn’t told us anything because she was waiting until they knew something specific.”
“That’s terrible,” Kat murmured. “I’m so sorry.” She and Philippe had spent one weekend in Lyon with his cousin and her husband for the spectacular Fête des Lumières, and Kat liked them very much.
Philippe nodded. “Apparently, two weeks ago Idelle showed up at the clinic in Paris to be with her sister. Idelle wants to pay all expenses and take her sister to a hospital in Switzerland.”
It was Kat’s turn to nod. “That doesn’t sound like the evil side she showed us. It’s like this is just about the two sisters … and maybe nothing else. That would be a relief. I’ll try to convince myself of that.”
“Yes. Inspecteur Thibideau all but promised me that Idelle is not involved in any criminal activity. She knows what a close call she had while she was under Dimitri’s control. He said she is out of that life altogether, and you know the narcotics department surveillance is topnotch.”
Katherine noticed Philippe’s jaw tighten and his eyes cloud slightly. “There’s one more thing, though.”
He took Kat’s hands in his. Her breathing caught. What now?
“Apparently, something was tossed overboard just as the sting was going down last year. There’s some concern there may be an attempt to recover it by whoever is in charge of the cartel now. Undercover has picked up some talk about it—a large sum of money.”
Kat’s eyes began to tear up. “Oh no! You said there wouldn’t be anything that involved us. And that sting was practically in our front yard … practically …” She gulped and coughed.
“Nobody is going to come near us. The police will be watching the coast. The gang may drop a few divers in the water, and then they’ll be caught. Simple as that. In fact, the inspecteur mentioned they had a special electronics monitoring setup near the spot.”
“Hmm,” Kat muttered, “didn’t they refer to something like that at the time of the sting? But then they never elaborated…” Her voice died off, and she became lost in thought. She had never been more frightened in her life than when that whole wild episode began with a note on their car windshield in Antibes and a wild death-defying car chase on the way to Entrevaux.
Suddenly, she had a sickening feeling about her recent early-morning suspicion that there was someone in the garden. She mentioned it to Philippe now.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Are you quite sure you saw something? Or is it because of what Inspecteur Thibideau said? The power of suggestion …”
She shot him a quick look of annoyance. “Of course I’m not embellishing the situation. I thought I saw something or someone. I just wanted you to know. Maybe we should report it.”
“Bien sûr. I will check things out as soon as I get home. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so flip.”
Swallowing back her fear, Kat decided this situation was not going to get the best of her. She could deal with it. In fact, when she got home, she would go look at that end of the garden herself. As Molly would say to her, Pull up your big-girl pants, Katski.
“Fais-moi confiance. Trust me,” Philippe urged as he leaned across the table, kissed her cheeks lightly, and patted her clenched hands.
They talked for a few more minutes, and she felt increasingly reassured by Philippe’s words. The warmth of his gaze never left her eyes. She trusted the emotions they conveyed. That, too, had been a learning experience after being married to someone who seldom really looked at her. James had always talked through her or past her—that is, when he managed to actually discuss something.
“I’ll be home by two o’clock,” Philippe confirmed. “We have a special guest arriving at half-past three, n’est-ce pas?”
“Yes,” Kat confirmed, relieved and distracted for the moment by the change of subject. “Andrew emailed this morning from his connection in Zurich to say his flight here was on time. I double-checked with Bernadette, and she will pick him up at the Nice airport. She’s looking forward to her first official duty for us.”
Philippe laughed heartily. “No one could give new arrivals a better—and more amusing—introduction to the Côte d’Azur.”
Bernadette was another colorful personality in this new life of Katherine’s. The raucous wild-haired chauffeur/taxi driver from Marseille had been sent to pick up Molly and Kat when they first arrived in Antibes in August for Kat’s home exchange there.
She had since become a friend. When the Villa des Violettes finally opened for business in the new year, she would be the driver for guests, along with her regular business. Today she was picking up Kat’s nephew, Andrew, who was coming for a short visit from Canada on his way to a job in Ukraine.
“Come see the cheese I’ve set aside for us,” Philippe said as he paid the bill and they stood up to leave the café. “It’s something different. I thought I would practice on Andrew. You can tell me if you want anything else.”
“I want to say bonjour to Gilles anyway,” Kat said, feeling pleased that Philippe credited her knowledge of cheese. He often teased her about being his best student, and she continued to learn as they developed the website together.
Gilles greeted Kat warmly. “Great news that your nephew is coming to visit. Of course you will bring him by the market.”
“Absolument! I want him to meet all of our family.”
After a quick exchange of gossip, she picked up her panier and prepared to set off.
“No need to stop at the poissonerie,” Philippe said. “I’ve already picked out our fish for tonight—a fine dourade, as you suggested. I can collect it on the way home. You go ahead, I’m sure Simone is eager to see you. Take her this special chèvre that arrived this morning. She will love it.”
He handed her a carefully wrapped small packet, which she put in her panier.
“She will be pleased. À très bientôt, chou!” she whispered in his ear. Then she was off after a flurry of bises. She was determined not to let her simmering anxiety show.
Kat’s next stop was the flower stalls. She liked to support all three vendors. Each one had great selections and variety of blooms. Add to that their reasonable prices, and flowers were something she couldn’t resist. She still could not get over how the markets sold beautiful bouquets for a quarter of what they would cost in Canada.
Today, from the first stall, she chose lush bunches of white lisianthus, along with some in the deepest shade of rose, for the salon in the villa. From the second vendor, she added soft pink roses with a subtle fragrance for their bedroom. The third flower seller was the charm! Kat had never considered amaryllis blooms as cut flowers before, but there they were. And they were stunning.
The double layers of glistening white petals were lightly marked with delicate traceries of red. The blooms were opulent and massive. “Exquisite,” Kat said to the flower seller, “simply exquisite.”
I’ll take some for Simone, too. She will love them!
“These must go in the front foyer and the salon. Everyone needs to enjoy them!” she said to the vendor, as she pointed out three bunches.
Smiling proudly as she wrapped the stems, the woman told Kat the flowers had just arrived that morning and she was selling out quickly.
As Kat filled her panier with flowers, she felt a glimmer of excitement that her Christmas decorating would soon be underway. These might be just what she needed to help alleviate her Christmas conundrum.
Unfortunately, now there was an underlying fear about the Russian drug gang coming back into their lives. That she could not deny.