Page 88 of The Riviera House Swap

46

THEN

Dear Nina,

I am sorry that your parents feel this way.

But we are seventeen now. It is old enough to make our own decisions. Perhaps if you come, we will get married – and then it will be our life, not theirs. We could be together forever.

Please find a way to come – I don’t know what I will do if you can’t be with me.

Love, Pierre xxx

47

NOW

‘Antoine!’ Nina said, rolling down the window.

He smiled. ‘It is quite a coincidence, yes? But I am afraid I have some bad news for your driver. The car, it will need to be towed. I will send out for the truck.’

‘But why are you here in the first place?’ she asked.

‘Ah, my garage works for the breakdown company,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, if we are close, we get the calls to come and help.’

‘Wow,’ she said. Checking her watch, she realised how much time had passed while she’d been lost in thought – too preoccupied to think of calling another taxi to take her onwards. ‘Oh no, my plane!’ she said.

‘It is fine,’ Antoine said. ‘I can take you. If we are quick, it will be OK.’ He opened the door and she stepped out into the fresh afternoon air. It was pleasant, without the nip of cold or touch of damp there had been before. She saw his work truck parked on a corner, and the road stretching out both ways – one route back to Cagnes-sur-Mer, the other to the airport.

‘At least you didn’t bring your bike,’ she joked, nodding at the truck.

He laughed. ‘Ah but it would be a little difficult to carry my tools.’

‘Or my suitcase.’

‘Yes, although it would perhaps be faster when we get to the city, when we are amongst the traffic.’

She wasn’t 100 per cent sure if he was joking. The bike must have a top speed of 40 kmph. But she didn’t say anything in case she offended him. Just smiled and made a small noise that could be a laugh but could equally be read as agreement. ‘How far are we from the airport?’ she asked, checking her watch again.

‘Perhaps thirty minutes. It is not far. Just along this way,’ he said, lifting his hand towards the road as if presenting it to her.

They could make it.

She looked down the road, imagining sitting next to Antoine in the truck, making her way to her plane. He was right, if they got on the road now, she could carry on with her plan. She could fly home and resume her ordinary life. Whatever that meant.

Maybe they wouldn’t quite make it. Perhaps if she missed it, she could call it fate. A sign.

She touched the necklace in her pocket. Maybe she’d already had a sign. Maybe – if signs really existed – the universe was saying, ‘Seriously? You need more of a sign than this that you shouldn’t be going? I literally punctured a tyre with Pierre’s necklace. What else can I do for you? There are eight billion people on this planet. Give me a break!’

She looked down the road from which Antoine had come. It was leafy, green, flanked by fields. Fifteen minutes at his side and she’d be back in Cagnes-sur-Mer, where Jean-Luc’s house would likely still be available to her, at least for a little while longer.

The other way would take her to the plane, back to her life. She could see along it the tyre marks and wear of thousands of cars, all travelling the same way. Despite her assurances toher friends, she wasn’t sure when she’d be able to come back to France. Life would resume, she’d sit at her desk and the years would slip by in the same, good-enough, rhythm.

She thought about how she’d always let herself get lifted up by the flow of life – doing the things people expected. How she’d let those roads slip away. With Pierre, perhaps, she’d had a lucky escape. But she’d never know about those other roads.

‘Are you OK?’ Antoine said, returning to her side. ‘We do need to go, and the taxi driver will be fine.’

‘You know,’ she said, feeling her face get hot, ‘it was my fault.’

---