Did Nic give you those pictures?”
“Yes. I love them.” Laura’s mother had refused to look at them.
“Good. I took those during our many walks. We must have logged hundreds of miles throughout our marriage, exploring the countryside. She was a walker.”
So was Laura.
The emotions Maurice evoked were choking her. “Nic told me you were very happy.”
“We were soul mates. I adored her.” His tears ran freely. “Up until the time she came down with pneumonia, we loved getting out every day together. No man could have been blessed with a better, more loving wife. I’m utterly lost without her.”
Touched to the core by the sincerity of his love for Irene, Laura stirred restlessly. “How long was she ill?”
“Two months. She caught a cold. It developed into a secondary infection and before we knew it, she had pneumonia. Two weeks in the hospital on a regimen of strong antibiotics and the doctor was certain she would rally, thus the reason you weren’t notified. But overnight she took a sudden, cruel turn for the worse and left this world quickly with one wish...that you and your family would know how terribly you were all loved.”
Unable to prevent the tears, Laura got up from the couch and walked over to the French doors, too heartbroken to listen to any more tonight. Nic’s words kept running through her mind: That story is so wrong and twisted, it’ll tear my grandfather apart when he hears it.
After listening to Maurice’s outpouring of love, she understood why Nic had asked her not to destroy this man while he was in mourning. This was no act, on Maurice’s part or Nic’s. She doubted she would ever repeat her version to his grandfather. There’d been enough suffering. Laura had lived an abnormal existence for years because of it. The bitterness in her household had tainted her life. She wanted no more of it.
“We’ll get together tomorrow, Gran’père.”
At the sound of Nic’s voice, Laura turned toward them. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Mr. Valfort.”
“Call me Maurice.”
“All right then. Maurice it is.” Moisture blurred her vision. “Thank you for sending Nic with my grandmother’s body and arranging with the mortuary. In light of the history plaguing our families, it was a wonderful, noble thing to do. I’m indebted to both of you.” Her voice caught.
His features sobered, showing his full years for the moment. “I must confess it was hard letting her body go.” He broke down once more, clearly overcome with grief. “But I can always depend on my grandson to help me.”
Her throat swelled, making it almost impossible to articulate. “He was very gracious.” In light of the way she’d treated him, Nic was a saint. “Two days ago the family held a graveside service for her. She was buried in the family plot.”
“Just as it should have been.” The tears in his tone tore her apart. “But in return, you’re here. I thank God you came.” His voice shook. “How she prayed for this day.”
Laura felt the same way. “I wanted to meet you,” she assured him in all honesty, but she just hadn’t expected this feeling that he and her grandmother had been wronged in some tragic way. “She had to have loved you beyond anything.”
“Not beyond anything,” he contradicted her. “A day didn’t go by that your name wasn’t mentioned. She longed for her little granddaughter.”
Laura couldn’t take much more. Neither could Maurice, apparently. Nic put a comforting hand on his grandfather’s heaving shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”
She watched them go, but he didn’t leave her long. When Nic returned, his middle-aged housekeeper was with him.
“I did that flight a week ago and it wiped me out. Arlette will bring you a light supper. Sleep as long as you want and we’ll talk more in the morning.”
“Thank you, but I don’t think I could fall asleep yet. I need to relax. If you don’t mind, I’ll call for a taxi to drive me into Nice.” His head swerved in her direction. “I want to go down to the waterfront and soak in the atmosphere for a while. It will help me get a feel for the place where she lived all these years.”
His chest rose and fell visibly. “Your grandmother used to walk along the Promenade des Anglais with Maurice at night. They’d stop to listen to music from the mid-’60s at a local brasserie. The place features chanteurs who sing the songs Brel and Aznavour made famous.” He rubbed the back of his neck absently. “I’m wide-awake myself and will be happy to drive you.”
“No, no. You’ve done enough. I won’t stay out long. I’m used to being out at night in San Francisco. A half hour is all I crave.”
His eyes narrowed on her features. “Are you refusing me because you can’t forgive me for insinuating something about you that is patently untrue?”
No. She was refusing because he was a married man. But if she said that to him, he’d think she was a very unsophisticated, silly woman instead of an executive at Holden who did business with married men all the time.
“If I accept, are you going to accuse me of deciding to leave the villa so you’ll feel obliged to take me?”
A half smile escaped Nic. “Maybe I’m using you so I can enjoy a little diversion before I call it a night.”
His wife had to have an awfully good reason to be away. If Laura were his wife...but she had to stop her thoughts right there. “Then I won’t say no to your chivalry.”
“I never expected to hear that particular word fall from your lips.”
Her brows lifted. “I never expected you would willingly accompany me anywhere.”
His chuckle followed her down the hall as she went to the bedroom for a sweater. He waited for her in the foyer and they walked out to his car.
Laura couldn’t believe it, but they actually rode in companionable silence to the famous beachfront. Laura loved seeing the Promenade des Anglais, with its Italianate buildings, as portrayed in the many paintings of Nice. It ran parallel to the water. There was a magical feel about it.
He found a parking spot on a side street and they walked about a block and a half to the Oiseau Jaune. She could hear the music on their approach.
By some miracle Nic found them an empty bistro table among the crowd on the walkway and signaled a waiter. He ordered them mint tea.
Laura sat back, soaking up the authentic French atmosphere. “When I was in the Tetons of Wyoming last year, I went to a French restaurant in the mountains where they featured a singer who sounded like Charles Aznavour. This singer reminds me of him. I didn’t understand the words, but I loved it. I have to admit, there’s no place on earth like this. I can’t believe I’m here.”
“My grandfather can’t believe you’ve come, either. I doubt he’ll sleep until he sees you again tomorrow.”
She fought tears. “To think I’ve missed this by staying away the whole time.”
He angled a glance
