Dreaming of St-Tropez Page 22

  ‘You all right, Jess?’

  David sounded concerned. She did her best to shake herself out of her amazement as she scratched the dog’s head.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. It’s just taking me a bit of time to get my head round the fact that I’m sitting alongside a legend. Wow, David, I had no idea.’

  He smiled gently. ‘A legend with broken legs, don’t forget.’

  She waved a finger dismissively. ‘A legend’s a legend, period. Besides, hopefully the legs are getting better.’

  ‘I hope so, but I’m not holding my breath. I’ve got another scan and a meeting with the specialist in Nice next week. We’ll see what she says.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be good news.’ Jess was pleased to hear him talking about his legs, but she sensed a change of topic was called for. ‘So, before the accident, where were you living? In the US?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve got a place in California – that’s where my head office is – but I prefer it over here, to be honest.’

  ‘I’ve never been to California, but I can well see how you’d like this area. I love it. So what’s the plan? Once your legs are fixed, are you going back to the States or are you going to buy yourself somewhere in St-Tropez?’

  ‘St-Trop if I can find somewhere. There aren’t many places available, but I’ve got lots of feelers out.’

  ‘Wonderful. Remember, if you find somewhere, and you want me to pull my architect’s hat on again and take a look, just say, won’t you?’

  He leant back and subjected her to a long, lingering look that sent a thrill of raw desire through her whole body. She swallowed hard and waited for him to speak. Finally, he gave his verdict.

  ‘I reckon you’d look good in a hat. Mind you, you look good in anything. Tonight, in this amazing dress and the killer heels, you look like a Hollywood movie star.’ For a moment she glimpsed the confident, athletic, desirable man who had surely had a pack of women baying at his heels before the accident. ‘I’ve dated a few movie stars in my time, so I know what I’m talking about.’

  Jess could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment and she searched for the right words to brush off the compliment, while her brain was reminding her, not for the first time, that if the accident had never happened, he and she would almost certainly not be sitting here like this. He was so far out of her league, he wouldn’t even have recognised her existence. But before she could say anything, he carried on.

  ‘Sorry if I’m embarrassing you, Jess. The thing is – you’re more than any movie star I’ve ever met. Yes, you look amazing, but the big difference is inside, out of sight. First of all, you’ve got a brain, but along with being bright, you’re kind and selfless, and you’ve never even heard the word ego.’

  ‘Please stop, David, before my head explodes. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s true.’ He caught her eye. ‘Please don’t change, Jess.’

  ‘I’m too old to change.’

  ‘How old’s that?’

  ‘I’m twenty-nine – but not for much longer. And you know what comes after twenty-nine. How old are you, then?’

  ‘Thirty-three – but I feel about twice that age these days.’

  ‘So how old were you when you set up your company and it all took off?’

  Jess was glad to turn the conversation round to him and she felt her cheeks begin to cool. Inside, her head, and her heart, were in turmoil. There was no disguising the pleasure his comments – embarrassing or not – had given her. Could it really be that he might even be harbouring feelings towards her after all?

  ‘I had the idea while I was still at Oxford, and I set up the company the day after I graduated. So, that was eleven years ago now. Since then, it’s just gone crazy.’

  ‘And so you’re busy all the time with work stuff?’

  ‘Yes and no. Yes, we have regular weekly video conferences, and I do get other calls every now and then – for urgent stuff – but I’ve got a good team running things now, and so I’ve been able to take a step back.’ He glanced across at her. ‘Sorry, that’s a poor choice of words. Walking backwards is one of the things the physio’s been trying to get me to do – and it isn’t easy. At the moment, what’s occupying so much of my time is the Foundation.’

  ‘The Foundation?’

  ‘Yes, I’m trying to set up an organisation that can give support to people suffering from life-changing injuries, caused as a result of sport. There’s a lot going on for wounded military personnel nowadays, but I thought it would be good to try to help people like me.’

  ‘That’s a great idea.’

  And it was. Jess was very impressed. She was also delighted to hear David talking so fluently and openly. Like his father had said – talking was good.

  ‘Nobody can work miracles, but I want my people to concentrate as much on the psychological side as the physical. For people like me, it’s not just the physical consequences of the accident, but the total change of life, outlook and objectives that something like this brings with it.’ He managed a little smile and her heart went out to him. ‘And you never know, if I’m lucky, the Foundation might even be able to help me.’

  ‘I’m sure it will. And, David, in my small way, you know you can count on me for any help I can give you.’

  ‘I think I’ve said it before, but you already have helped – helped a lot. As recently as a month ago, if somebody had told me I’d be sitting here tonight with a beautiful girl, talking about this stuff with a smile on my face, I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Jess, if the Foundation could clone you, we’d be world-beaters.’

  ‘David, there’s only a certain amount of embarrassment a girl can handle. Could we talk about something else, apart from me?’

  ‘Of course. You know something? I really do enjoy talking to you, Jess. We must do this again another time.’

  ‘I’d like that, David. I’d like that a lot.’

  ‘Do you think I could have your phone number? That way I can give you a call some time, rather than struggle across on crutches, and maybe you might like to let me take you out for dinner?’

  ‘That sounds terrific.’

  And it did.

  Chapter 22

  The work on the villa started on Monday morning with the arrival of Jean-Pierre. The following day his cousin, the plumber, arrived to take a look. He brought what turned out to be his brother-in-law, the builder, with him and Jess discussed her requirements with them, delighted to find them both knowledgeable and friendly. Certainly, it looked like the job was going to be a real family affair. Everybody appeared to know everybody here in St-Tropez and Jess felt pretty sure that the word would soon spread that there was an English architect – and a woman to boot – staying here.

  The weather got steadily hotter and Jess even played around with the air-conditioning in the guest house, but soon discovered that by keeping the windows and doors onto the enclosed courtyard open, the temperature inside stayed at an acceptable level. Brutus deserted his bed and slept, stretched out, on the cool terracotta tiles on the floor beside her. Now that Hope had gone, Jess found she really liked having his company – particularly as his flatulence was now a thing of the past. Of course, nice as the dog was, there was somebody else whose company in her bedroom she would have preferred.

  To her delight, she got a phone call from him on Wednesday morning.

  ‘Hi, David, how’s it going?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Jess. I’m just about to go off to Toulon for today’s session with the physio and I was wondering if you were maybe free tonight?’

  ‘Pretty much. I said I’d send the builder a copy of the plans, and I wanted to mark up all the alterations for him, but I should be able to knock that off this afternoon. So, what did you have in mind?’

  ‘Do you like Italian food?’

  ‘Absolutely. I love it.’

  ‘Have you ever been to Italy?’

  ‘No, never, but that’s miles
away.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry about that. There’s a really good restaurant – one of my all-time favourites – on the coast just over the border that I’d like you to try, if you feel like it.’

  ‘Wow. Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘Yes, I am, absolutely. I hope you like it and, as for me, it’ll be terrific to go out for dinner for the first time in ages.’

  ‘Well, yes, then. Thank you.’ Jess had a sudden thought. ‘Is it a posh place? Should I dress up?’

  She heard him laugh and she found herself smiling for him. ‘Yes, I suppose it is a bit posh, but you wear what you like. It’s like I told you – you look good in anything.’

  ‘David! That’s unfair. You can’t tell me it’s a posh place and then say I can turn up in shorts and T-shirt. They’d probably throw me out.’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare. But if you’re worried, why don’t you wear that gorgeous blue dress you were wearing the other night?’ A thought must have struck him. ‘But best if you don’t wear heels. Heels and boats don’t mix.’

  ‘Boats?’ Jess was getting seriously confused. ‘Are we going there by boat?’

  ‘Sort of. Anyway, look, I’ve got to go. Are you okay if we leave at six o’clock?’

  ‘Yes, of course. That’s fine.’

  ‘Right. I’ll book the taxi for six, and don’t forget your passport, just in case, although I don’t think anybody’ll ask for it. See you later, Jess, and… Jess, I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Me too, David.’

  She put the phone down, feeling excited, but a bit bewildered. She opened her laptop and checked what she had suspected. The Italian border was about a hundred miles east of here, just beyond Monte Carlo. The computer suggested that it was likely to take over two hours to drive there. That would mean at least four hours in the car there and back – not exactly a relaxing evening, but it was certainly something different. And she would be with David. Of course, as far as getting there was concerned, he had talked about a boat and a taxi, so maybe he had some alternative up his sleeve.

  It turned out that he had.

  The taxi collected them from the villa at six o’clock and took them to St-Tropez harbour. Here, a launch was waiting for them. David hadn’t brought his wheelchair and Jess was delighted to see him moving fairly confidently with his crutches, and managing to scramble into the boat without too much trouble. They set off out of the harbour, then, to her considerable surprise, as the launch rounded the end of the long breakwater, she discovered exactly how they were going to get to Italy. There, bobbing gently on the light wavelets, was a seaplane.

  Jess had never seen one in the flesh before and she certainly hadn’t flown in one. The aircraft had a propeller at the front and rested upon two long white floats. It was surprisingly small compared to the commercial aircraft she had flown on in the past. They came up alongside one of the floats, from which a ladder led up to an open door above, and David helped her out of the launch and onto the ladder, hauling himself up afterwards inelegantly, but without too much apparent difficulty.

  Inside, there were six seats, but, clearly, they were the only passengers. Two uniformed crew were waiting for them. The pilot shook hands with them and then returned to his seat in the cockpit. Moments later Jess heard the engine cough into life while they sat down and the co-pilot went through the safety information with them. He made it all sound very safe, although his revelation that seaplanes tended to end up upside down in the water in the event of a crash sounded a bit scary. However, he reappeared a moment later with a bottle of champagne and Jess decided to go with the flow. She was with three men who clearly weren’t worried, so why should she be? Even so, as the engine note rose to a roar and she felt the aircraft start to slice through the water, she gripped David’s arm and hung on for dear life.

  After a remarkably short run-up, bumping far less than she had expected across the water, the spray outside the windows suddenly stopped and they were airborne. Compared to jets she had flown on in the past, this little aircraft appeared to be travelling at little more than walking speed, but it nevertheless gained height pretty quickly and they soon had an amazing view inland across the tree-covered hills, as far as the peaks of the Maritime Alps in the distance.

  ‘So, what do you think of it so far? I hope that wasn’t too scary.’

  David’s voice was gentle. Jess turned back from the window towards him, and realised with a start that she was still hanging onto his arm with her right hand. She slowly unclenched her grip, noticing the imprint of her fingers on the tanned skin of his arm.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t squeeze too tightly. I’m fine now, but I was a little bit scared as we took off. Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m glad to be of service. It’s a bit different in a seaplane, isn’t it?’ He smiled at her. ‘If it helps, I took an old friend up in one of these once, and she was sick in my lap. Cheers.’

  He clinked his glass against hers and they both sipped their champagne. As they flew along the coast, she could see the captain and co-pilot at the controls, separated from them by just a curtain. The two men were drinking coffee out of a flask and the little plane appeared to be flying itself. Jess took another, bigger, mouthful of wine and decided to place her trust in their ability, and concentrate on the handsome man alongside her.

  He was wearing an impeccable light blue linen shirt, grey trousers and deck shoes. He looked happy and she was very pleased to see him like this. Had it not been for the crutches lying across the seats behind them, he looked every inch a fortunate member of the privileged classes – and, of course, that was exactly what he had been until the accident. When Jess had arrived in St-Tropez, she wouldn’t have been seen dead in the company of somebody who used a private aircraft and yet, here she was. As Hope had been telling her all along, it wasn’t the fact of being rich that made people objectionable. She made a mental note to try to give people – even Rafael or the Drugois of this world – the benefit of the doubt before judging them in future.

  ‘So where exactly are we going, David?’

  He turned towards her and smiled.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’m using you as a guinea pig.’ Seeing her raised eyebrows, he explained. ‘I’m taking you to a restaurant on the coast just over the other side of the Italian border, a kilometre or two beyond Monaco. It’s a place I used to come to a lot and I’d welcome your opinion of it.’

  ‘Why? Do you think it might have changed over the past few months?’

  ‘It might have, or I might have. That’s what I’m keen to find out – with your help. Anyway, I can guarantee you a wonderful meal. Their food is second to none.’

  Jess didn’t quite follow.

  ‘Well if you’re so sure of the quality of the food, what am I supposed to have an opinion about?’

  He smiled again. ‘Just anything. See what you think.’

  She still didn’t follow, but she decided to wait and see. Presumably all would be revealed in due course. After a minute or two, she changed the subject.

  ‘So, have you used this sort of aircraft a lot, David?’

  ‘There’s been a lot of trouble with helicopters around St-Tropez over the years – you know, noise and so on – and the local authorities have been clamping down on the number of flights, so this is the next best thing. We’re flying back later on by helicopter but, to be honest, helicopters are terribly noisy inside as well as out. I quite like this sort of aircraft – besides, I can’t fly a helicopter, but I can fly an aircraft, so if the pilot and the co-pilot decide to jump out, I know I can get us down.’ He was smiling.

  ‘You can fly?’

  ‘I used to do a lot of flying – and gliding, hang-gliding and parachuting.’ His smile faded. ‘I fear that’s something else I won’t be able to do any more.’

  Just then the co-pilot reappeared to top up their glasses and to inform them that they would be landing in ten minutes’ time. Jess was astounde
d.

  ‘So less than half an hour. That’s amazing. The computer reckoned it would take two hours to drive to the border! Mind you, I imagine you could do it quicker than that in the Jaguar.’

  David shook his head. ‘And get locked up. There are so many speed restrictions, speed cameras and police patrols on the motorway, it really doesn’t matter whether you’re driving a Ferrari or a Cinquecento. Besides, don’t forget, my Jag’s an old lady. A souped-up Cinquecento probably goes a whole lot faster than her. But, yes, it’s at least two hours by car, probably more, depending on the traffic.’

  Jess sipped her wine and listened as David pointed out iconic places like Cannes and Nice as they flew past. The coastline along here had been heavily developed and there were houses and huge apartment blocks as far as the eye could see, unlike the virgin forests above St-Tropez. From up here in the plane, the clear blue sea below was almost transparent and the boats they spotted looked as if they were hanging in mid-air. It was an enchanting view.

  A few minutes later, the co-pilot came out to tell them they were about to make their final descent. Jess swallowed the last of her wine, refused a top-up, and caught David’s eye.

  ‘Would you mind if I hung onto you again?’

  ‘I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’

  This time she grabbed hold of him with both hands for good measure. Looking down, she clearly saw Monte Carlo, with its crowded harbour and mass of high-rise buildings. The feel of David beside her more than compensated for the slightly bumpy descent – although the actual contact with the water was very smooth – and the beautiful backdrop of the Italian coast also helped to calm her fears.

  Where they landed, the mountains came right down to the coast and plunged vertically into the sea. There were far fewer buildings visible here and the area looked really quite unspoilt – no doubt because the terrain was so inhospitable. The engine revved as they headed towards the shore and then, as the captain cut the power and silence descended upon them, Jess saw another launch appear out of a little rocky bay and head out to meet them.