looking for something? Her own life?
The tears had gradually made their way from her throat to her eyes and one spilled over her lower lid onto the newspaper that Jacques had given her. She stared down at the absorbent paper as it made the teardrop look much worse than it was.
Which was exactly what she was doing.
She had to lighten up. It was three years since Shane had died and most of the time she was fine. It was only on odd occasions that memories set her off. She was incredibly lucky to be in the position she was in. How many women had the opportunity to do exactly what they’d always wanted to do?
Wiping away the remaining tears before they could fall, she remembered something that Jacques had said.
He’d noticed which newspaper she preferred last week.
He’d been watching her, taking notes—not literally, she assumed, but still…She didn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned.
Perhaps she should do as he’d suggested and check his references. But a glance at the smiling Jean-Claude had her shaking her head. That wasn’t necessary. Just the fact that he’d suggested it was enough to tell her he had nothing to hide and, besides, what were they talking about here? A chat, that was all. Not a date.
So, he was observant. That wasn’t a bad thing. He probably noticed stuff about everyone who entered the café. It wouldn’t hurt her to be more aware of her surroundings. She’d been living in the very small world consisting of her immediate family for far too long.
Chapter Two
THE next day, when Leonie arrived back at the apartment at the end of her lessons, she didn’t wait for claustrophobia to hit, but immediately showered and changed her clothes before checking her reflection in the only mirror she had. A small one.
All the local women were well turned out, even when dressed in casual clothes. In comparison, she felt dowdy in her shorts and T-shirt. Sam had tried to convince her to shop for a whole new wardrobe before coming away, but she’d made do with popping to the local chain store and grabbing some basic items. She’d never been one for fashion. There had always been more important things to think about, family things, and no one had ever cared what she wore. As long as she was tidy, she’d figured fashion didn’t matter.
She looked at herself more critically than she ever had before. Maybe she should visit some of the local shops and see what she could come up with? It couldn’t hurt.
At least she was lucky that she hadn’t gained much weight over the years, especially as she hadn’t been skinny to start with. She’d always been a bit hippy and busty. Actually, she had gained quite a few kilos earlier on, but had lost them during the first months of Shane’s illness. Seeing him suffer had turned her right off food, and she’d never really regained her former appetite. So, no, she wasn’t fat, but that didn’t mean her body was in great condition. Far from it.
Her hair was okay, though. Well, her hairdresser had offered to touch up a few grey roots, but she hadn’t seen the point at the time, saying that they weren’t noticeable amongst her blond hair and her natural curls hid them anyway.
She chewed her lip, wishing she’d let the hairdresser work her magic on those roots.
But why? Did she see the point now? Was Jacques the reason for her out-of-character critical scrutiny?
No!
She hoped to see Jacques again, true enough, but only because he was someone to talk to. Someone friendly. So what if she looked her age? He did too.
Hmm, like there was any comparison. Men aged differently from women, and he looked great.
She sighed. If he was superficial enough to object to the way she looked, he wasn’t someone she wanted as a friend. She couldn’t help being over forty, and there was nothing wrong with that anyway.
Leonie pushed open the café door and was rewarded by the sight of Jacques, in another pristine white shirt, his dark suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. He rose to his feet and waved her over.
She sighed with relief. At least there would be no awkwardness such as deciding whether to go up to him or not.
‘Good afternoon, Leonie.’
He pronounced her name ‘Lay-o-nie’, with the emphasis on the first syllable. She was about to correct him, when she changed her mind. It sounded different, and she liked it. Different was good.
‘Hello, Jacques.’
Goodness, he was even more gorgeous than she’d remembered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea?
But then he grinned, a grin so genuine and boyish it made her heart stand still. And she knew she couldn’t walk away.
He placed a chair next to his and held it for her. She gave him a questioning look. Why would she sit next to him like that?
He shrugged. As if he’d read her mind again, he said, ‘I thought we could read the newspaper at the same time. You can point out anything you have difficulty with and I can help you.’
‘Oh, but you don’t have to—’ She stopped, because it was thoughtful of him. She smiled. ‘Thank you. That’s a nice idea. I appreciate it.’
After she’d settled at the table and Jacques had fetched her a coffee, Leonie took her reading glasses from her bag and slipped them on. Then she watched Jacques reach into his jacket pocket and do the same thing.
Grinning, she said, ‘It’s a drag, isn’t it? A sign of old age creeping up on us.’
‘We have a lot of life in us yet.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe you do, but my best years are well and truly gone.’
He frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘It’s a fact. I’ve been married, had my children, now I’ve turned forty and I’m heading towards…’ With a pang, she realised she didn’t know what she was heading towards. ‘Well, grandchildren, I guess.’
He made a scoffing sound. ‘You are not old enough to be a grandmother.’
‘Well, technically I am, but, more to the point, I wouldn’t like either of my kids to have children yet. I hope they’ll get an education and live a little before they settle down to raising a family.’
She sighed, looking away.
‘You miss them?’
‘I do. I miss them so much. Yesterday, I was seriously considering going home. This…’ she waved a hand meant to encompass the café, the city, the course…everything ‘…this is so not me. I’m a mother first and foremost, and I can hardly believe I’ve left my children to fend for themselves while I’m here, pleasing myself.’
She shrugged, then took her phone from her bag, flipped it open and brought a photo of Sam to the screen. ‘This is my daughter, Samantha. She’s the elder of the two.’
He smiled. ‘She
