I Promise You This (Love in Provence Book 3)
Read I Promise You This (Love in Provence Book 3) Online
Authors: Patricia Sands
ALSO BY PATRICIA SANDS
The Bridge Club
The Love in Provence Series
The Promise of Provence
Promises to Keep
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 by Patricia Sands
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503935723
ISBN-10: 1503935728
Cover illustration by Scott Collie
Map by Don Larson
Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
In memory of Peter McNeilly, who left us a legacy to love unconditionally and live life in the superlative.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Rain pelted down.
The limo crawled along in a clog of traffic. For the most part, the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers was all that broke the silence.
Philippe knew that Kat was struggling to keep her composure. He kept the conversation light and brief as they looked out from the backseat. “Now you see why I never take a taxi into Paris from the airport. At least with a hired car and driver, I don’t have to watch the meter skyrocket if we get caught like this.”
Kat nodded, expressionless, staring straight ahead. She thought it fitting that the weather was as gloomy and dark as the feelings she was fighting.
When the familiar landmarks of the Left Bank came into view, her mood began to lift. She leaned her head back against the seat, her hand nestled in Philippe’s.
“This is reminding me of my visit here last June, and the words of Oncle François.”
Philippe gently squeezed her hand and turned his head to her. Their eyes met. “Your lunch with him was the start of my good fortune.”
Katherine felt the hint of a smile light her face, remembering how François’s wise words on that early summer day had changed her forever. She could hear his kindly voice with its charming accent now, as she often did. “Life is full of choices . . . don’t be afraid to make them . . . live it well.”
It was her first cheerful thought since they’d received the phone call about Molly’s life-threatening accident, not even twenty-four hours earlier. Molly was now in a hospital, in an induced coma. Philippe had accompanied Kat to Paris to put her on a flight to Toronto the next morning. He would follow later, once they knew more about Molly’s condition.
“This is not the way I envisioned our first time together in Paris. We’ll return in the spring when the trees are in blossom and we’re happy.”
“April in Paris,” sighed Katherine, feeling a rush at the thought.
Philippe leaned into her and sang a few lines of that romantic old tune.
Kat laughed, in spite of herself, and thanked him with her smile.
He slipped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Who makes you laugh more than Molly? Just keep remembering that.”
Swallowing back tears as her smile faded, Katherine nodded. “You’re right. I’m going to try to do just that. I’m so frightened for her.”
Philippe stroked her arm gently.
Once in their cozy room at the Hôtel Henri IV, Katherine slipped off her shoes and flopped on the bed. The room had only enough space on each side of the bed for a small side table, but the linens and décor were impeccable. The renovated bathroom had a deep soaking tub and thick soft towels, both of which were becoming more common in France.
“When I stayed here last June, I was so pleased you recommended the hotel to me. The location, the ambiance, the tiny perfect rooms . . .” Katherine smiled at the memory.
Philippe sat at the end of the bed and massaged her feet. “My grandfather used to bring me here as far back as I can remember. He knew the owner in those days. We would have great adventures in Le Jardin du Luxembourg. At least, they seemed adventures to me then, exploring the woods or racing our sailing ships in the pond. Sometimes we would visit an intriguing woman who lived nearby. He said she was a dear and special friend. She was beautiful and made the most delicious
madeleines.
I’ve never forgotten them . . . or her!”
Katherine smiled again. “Of course a favorite memory of yours involves food, even from childhood! I’m amazed it wasn’t cheese!”
“Pourquoi pas?”
Philippe chuckled and lightly tickled the sole of her foot before he stood up. “And speaking of food, we should get ready for our dinner reservation. But first, let’s be
flâneurs
! Paris is the best city to stroll in when it is raining. I can’t explain it exactly, but I believe you will love it. It will give you peace.
Je te promets
.”
“Let’s go, but I don’t feel hungry yet. I’m not even bringing my camera. All I can think about is Molly and life and death. Hopefully a walk will replace this despair with hope. I want to savor every moment with you until I have to leave tomorrow.”
Philippe nodded sympathetically as he opened the door for Kat and took her hand. “It’s a terrible worry,
c’est vrai
. But let’s try our best to think positive thoughts of Molly to get through this day. We’ll help each other.”
He collected an umbrella from the stand near the hotel entrance. Grasping its wooden handle, he put his arm around Katherine, and they set off through the narrow cobblestone streets of the bohemian-flavored Latin Quarter. The oversized green umbrella gave broad protection that was hardly necessary, as their bodies molded together.
The rain had lessened in intensity. The daylong soaking had created a palette of grays from the cobblestone lanes to the slate rooftops.
“You always told me Paris was romantic in the rain and now I see why,” Kat said, snuggling even closer. “There’s a softness in the air and everything seems to blend together. I feel like we’re walking through an impressionist painting.”
Katherine became caught up in Philippe’s stories of the artists and philosophers whose lives had colored the history of the area. “
La rive gauche
evokes images of Toulouse-Lautrec, Matisse, Josephine Baker, Picasso, Hemingway, Stein, Fitzgerald—that amazing cast of characters of
les Années folles
.”
“The crazy years. One of my favorite periods to read about. The arts were so alive.” Katherine added. “Then things changed so dramatically after the war, with good reason. Existentialism and civil rights issues took over, with thinkers like Sartre, de Beauvoir, Camus, Baldwin. A rich time again, don’t you think? I devoured Sartre’s work when I was in university and love knowing all those luminaries walked these streets.”
“I like discovering we shared the same interests in years past, although I must admit I devoured more cheap wine than philosophy in university,” Philippe said. “Let me clarify—even though it was cheap, it was usually smooth and full-flavored! We were devotees of the vine.” He grinned at the flood of memories.
“Another benefit of studying in France!” Katherine teased. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she said, “And there’s another benefit, the local
pâtisseries
! Everyone is lining up for the afternoon baguette . . . it smells divine.”
Before long they spilled out onto the tree-lined Boulevard Saint-Michel, with its historic fountain. Groups of students were milling about in what was now a light drizzle, heading to the Metro after their day of studies in the university halls and buildings.
Philippe steered Kat through the busy crowd, toward the Seine. He told her the history of each bridge they passed, and Katherine expressed disappointment at the shuttered and locked green stands as they made their way along the river. “That rain was too much for even
les bouquinistes
today.”
They stopped at the Pont des Arts, and Kat’s eye immediately zeroed in on the mass of locks, of all sizes and shapes, attached to the chain-link sides of the bridge. “The love locks! I don’t think there’s room for even one more!”
“These
cadenas d’amour
just keep multiplying. They are on other bridges too,” Philippe said, and then looked at Katherine apologetically. “Are you disappointed I didn’t bring one?”
“
Mais non!
In fact, I’m glad you didn’t. Now that we are standing here, I remember reading that part of this railing collapsed last year under their weight.”
Philippe blew out a sigh of relief. “To be honest, I didn’t consider it. I think it’s gotten out of hand.”
Soon they reached the ornate Beaux Arts–style Pont Alexander III, and Philippe steered them to the middle of it. “Every bridge has its own character. This one is exuberantly elegant,” Kat murmured, admiring the cherubs, nymphs, and gilt-bronzed sculptures that graced the spans.
With his arm around her shoulder, Philippe turned their bodies to look across the river. “
Voilà, mon amour.
Drink this in.”
Through the soft settling of dusk and the mist of light rain, not far in the distance stood the Eiffel Tower, ablaze with its festive lights. Katherine took a deep breath and sighed. As she lifted her face to Philippe’s, his lips met hers with a long, gentle kiss.
“Je t’aime,”
he whispered, his tone soothing. “Carry this moment with you.”
“I love you too,” Katherine replied, her body tingling as she responded to his touch. The connection between them seemed even more intense because they were parting. “Thank you for bringing me to this view . . . this moment. I don’t want to leave you.”
He looked deeply into her eyes. “Minou, you are my everything . . . you aren’t leaving me. You’re going to help Molly and then you’ll return.”
Katherine’s heart swelled with gratitude for all the romance Philippe built into their time together. Whenever she expressed this to him, he reminded her that solitude had been his companion for many years. He had convinced himself he could live without love until Katherine had—seemingly from nowhere—walked into his life. His tenderness had opened her eyes to how alone she too had been, in spite of having had a husband. Now their love was filling voids and creating a richer life than either had imagined just a year before.
She nodded, lost in his eyes and too overcome for words.
They stood holding each other in the thrall of the scene, under the umbrella, before Philippe raised his hand and hailed a cab. “Café Burq, Rue des Abbesses,” he instructed the driver, who commented with a knowing “Ahhh.”
They raised their eyebrows and grinned at each other as the driver took them on a backstreet tour that was at times hair-raising. He skillfully darted in and out of dense traffic on narrow streets, muttering oaths under his breath.
Philippe made certain Kat caught glimpses of some of the remaining Christmas-market huts and skating rinks that still dotted the
quartiers
, along with elaborate window dressings. “From
petite
boutiques to grand department stores,” he said, “Paris does the festive season in fine style, and we’ve just caught the end of it.”
As the taxi began to be slowed by ever more labyrinthian laneways, Philippe asked the driver to stop at the tiny carousel in the Place des Abbesses. “
C’est bien, merci
. The rain has slowed and we can walk to the restaurant from here.
C’est parfait
.”
“I recognize this. There’s Sacré-Coeur up there; we’re in the start of Montmartre, yes?” Katherine asked.
He took her hand as they threaded between shoppers. “Basically, yes, the Eighteenth. This area began to get trendy about ten years ago but has retained its own unique character. Les Abbesses is named after Les Dames de Montmartre and the abbey that was here for centuries. We’re pretty early, so the restaurant won’t be crowded.”
As they passed a long line winding out of a corner
boulangerie
, Philippe told her that the bakery had once won the award for the best baguette in Paris. They stopped to stare through the window at glass display cases filled with tantalizing pastries. Philippe pointed out a few.
“Besides their crisp baguette, the signature items are almond croissants and exotic flavors of
macarons
. After dinner, if the line is gone and the shop still open, we’ll get some to take with you tomorrow.”
“
Bonne idée!
They’ll make delicious gifts. I hadn’t even given any thought to that.”
“Nor should you have . . . you have enough on your mind,” Philippe reassured her. “But now we can do this.”
A friendly young waitress seated them quickly in the dimly lit bistro with its swanky yet intimate atmosphere. The classic wooden chairs, checkered tablecloths, and blackboard menus reminded Katherine of the
bouchons
in Lyon. The tightly packed tables conveyed an air of conviviality, even with the room only half full at that early dining hour.
Katherine knew Philippe would have fine suggestions for their meal and wasn’t surprised when they started by sharing a cheese appetizer. “This baked Camembert with honey is a must. They are famous for it!”
“Almost as delectable as yours,” Kat teased.
She followed with
escargots
in cream, while Philippe rolled his eyes in rapture over the veal liver sautéed with figs. The waitress suggested an appropriate wine from their special organic list, and for a while Kat’s worries were eased by the eclectic atmosphere and delicious meal.
Sipping her wine slowly, Katherine reminisced about their Christmas at Joy’s manor house in Sainte-Mathilde and her immersion into the traditions of Provence. “It was like a dream. I keep reliving it all and don’t want to forget any of it.”
Philippe encouraged her to talk about other happy topics to help further distract her from her worries. They were supposed to be collecting a puppy at the end of the month, and Philippe assured Kat he would speak to the breeder. He also promised he would call her friend Simone, to explain her absence.
As they held each other close that night, Philippe whispered comforting words, and they talked about the possibility of bringing Molly back to France to recuperate. There was a sudden awareness they were parting.