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It had been fun but ultimately meaningless.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I saw some amazing things, did amazing things and I had fun. But there was nothing to find out. Without Rafferty’s I don’t have anything...I’m no one.’
‘That’s not true.’ His voice was low, intimate.
‘It is,’ she argued. ‘But Raff? He is utterly and completely himself. I think I’ve always envied that. And now he has Clara—which is great, she’s lovely and I’m sure they’ll be very happy. But my brother and best friend getting married? It leaves me with no one.’
She heard her words echo as she said them and flushed. ‘I am the most selfish beast, ignore me, Gabe. I’m tired and fluey and having a pathetic moment. It’ll pass!’
He regarded her quietly. ‘And you don’t eat,’ he said after a while. ‘Come on, I’ll cook.’
* * *
Polly was still protesting as Gabe rummaged through the fridge, trying to find something he could make into a meal a Frenchman could be proud of. It might have to be a simple omelette, he decided, pulling the eggs out of the fridge along with a courgette, some cheese and the end of some chorizo.
‘You really don’t have to cook for me,’ she said. ‘I’m quite happy with some bread and cheese.’
‘Do you ever cook?’ He looked at the gleaming range cooker, the beautiful copper saucepans hanging from their hooks looking as blemish free as the day they were bought.
‘I butter bread and slice cheese. Occasionally I shred a lettuce.’
‘That is some variety.’
‘I know.’
He continued to chop onions as she watched.
‘So you’re a business whizz-kid, a gourmet chef, a triathlete. Is there anything you can’t do?’
‘I’ve never backpacked.’
‘Didn’t fancy the dirt and blisters?’
‘I didn’t have the time.’ Gabe scraped the onions into the pan and tipped it expertly so they were evenly covered in oil. ‘I went to university late and had a lot of time to make up. No chance to slack off.’
Polly was sitting at the counter, her chin propped in her hands. ‘Is that why you set yourself such a punishing schedule now?’
Was it? All Gabe knew was that once you’d spent a year confined to bed, without the strength to get a glass of water, watching your classmates grow up without you, that once you knew just what losing someone meant then you had to make the most of every single second.
‘You can sleep when you’re dead,’ he said. It was all too true; he’d thought about that long enough.
Now he just wanted to live every moment.
Polly continued to watch as he whisked the eggs. ‘What do your parents think? Of you working away? Did they expect you to work with them?’
Ouch, that was direct. ‘They found it hard to adjust.’ He poured the eggs into the pan with a flourish. ‘They wanted me to go to university nearby, stay in Provence. When I said I was going to Boston they were hurt. But they got over it.’
On the surface at least. The very worst part of being ill had been the despair in his parents’ faces whenever they thought he wasn’t watching. Or the forced positivity when they knew he was. It made it hard to say no to them.
‘You’re the son and heir.’ There was no hiding the bitterness in her words. ‘Of course they expect a lot.’
His mouth curved into a wry smile. ‘Son? Oui. Heir? That remains to be seen. Celine is studying vineyard management in New Zealand and Claire is doing a very good job of opening the chateau up to guests and tourists while presenting them with a perfect trio of grandchildren.’
‘Three!’ She straightened up, pulling her hair back into a knot as she did so. He watched, fascinated, as she gathered up the silky golden strands and twisted them ruthlessly, tucking the end under. It wouldn’t take much to make it spill free. Just one touch.
‘Three in three years,’ he confirmed. ‘And Natalie is expecting her second. She takes care of all the advertising and marketing. So you see I have some formidable rivals for the vineyard. If I wanted it that is.’
‘Isn’t it funny? You and Raff could have it all on a plate. And you don’t even want it.’
‘We still have to work,’ he argued. ‘No one I work with cares what my parents do. Raff had to work his way up at Doctors Everywhere. It’s exactly the same. Pass me a plate, will you?’
Polly got up and took two plates off the dresser, handing them over. Gabe shredded some lettuce and added a couple of tomatoes before cutting the omelette in half and sliding it onto a plate.
‘Voilà,’ he said, sliding it towards her.
