She wasn’t imagining it. The next morning, they woke late and made love until they were exhausted.
Or rather she was exhausted. Ettore had astonishing stamina, Dulcie thought as she watched him swim laps in the suite’s private rooftop pool, feeling drowsy and warm in the Parisian sunshine.
But it was the right kind of drowsiness. Not that fatigue that made her feel as if she were wearing one of those weighted vests but the good kind that was accompanied by an absence of her usual racing thoughts.
She felt calm and clear-headed and alive.You could just say happy,she told herself. Because she was happy.
It was something she couldn’t remember feeling for a long time either. But everything she needed and wanted in her life was here. Her chest tightened. Except her brother. But, fingers crossed, Oscar would reach this same place of calm and certainty one day.
‘Stop it,’ Ettore said softly, dropping down beside her on the sunlounger, his face serious.
‘Stop what?’ Raising her hand to block the sun, she squinted up at him, feeling more than a little envious of the droplets of water that were trickling over his glorious body.
He ran his hand back over his scalp, smoothing the hair. ‘Feeling guilty about Oscar.’
‘I wasn’t,’ she protested. ‘Well, maybe I was a little,’ she confessed as his eyes found hers.
‘We can bring him to Paris when he leaves the clinic if you want.’
‘We could?’
Her voice was high with surprise, and he reached over and tilted up her chin so that their eyes were level. ‘Of course. He’s your brother. I want you to spend time with him. I want to get to know him.’
‘And I can’t wait for Oscar to get to know you too. I want him to know what a lovely man you are.’ She clasped his face with her hands and pressed a clumsy kiss to his mouth. As they broke apart, he shifted his weight forward to pick up a croissant. He held it out to her.
‘You should eat. We’ve got a busy day.’
‘Have you got something planned?’ she asked as she dipped her croissant in her coffee.
He nodded.
‘I thought we might head out to Giverny.’
‘Really?’ She dropped her croissant in her coffee. ‘I’ve always wanted to go there.’
‘I know.’ She felt her heart flutter as Ettore fished the pastry out and swapped his cup for hers. ‘You mentioned it yesterday when we were at the botanical gardens.’
Only in passing, but he had noticed.
‘Have you been before?’ As he shook his head, she felt suddenly, stupidly elated. It was new to them both. They could discover it together.
The gardens were every bit as stunning as she had hoped. There was an artistry and an exuberance to the planting that just blew her away. The closest she got to artistry was doodling in her notebook. But she could see how using plants with delicate, fluttering flowerheads such as gypsophila and bee blossom could recreate the shimmer that was so characteristic of Impressionist art.
‘This is what I want my garden to look like,’ she said as they crossed a wisteria-clad bridge over the water-lily-strewn ponds. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have the space for a pond.’
‘You do now,’ he said softly.
‘So I can let my imagination run riot back at the castle,’ she teased.
‘Wherever, whenever you want.’
They ate lunch at a small bistro in the village, which had no menu but was clearly a favourite with the locals. Unsurprisingly, given that the food was simple and fresh and perfectly seasoned.
In the car on the way back to Paris, she checked her phone and there was a photo of Oscar wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He looked flushed and sweaty, but triumphant and the photo was captioned:
Couch to 5k. First run. To be continued…
‘That’s fantastic,’ Ettore said when she showed him the photo. He kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘Trust the process. He’ll get there.’
