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She slips her sunglasses down from her head onto her nose.What a couple of months, she thinks, knowing she’ll never forget them. The best time of her life. Though she can’t honestly admit that her French is any better – the whole point of the trip in the first place. And she never even met the hosts she was assigned by school, let alone got to know them or partook in their family life. The various hotels, guest houses, road trips and other cities and villages have been a far more educational experience. She laughs quietly to herself.
‘You want to share the joke?’ a male voice to her left says.
She looks across. A man has sat down at the table beside her. American, judging by his accent. He’s smartly dressed, though casual – tan chinos, a navy polo shirt, a flash of white trainers.
‘No,’ Belle says, looking at him sideways. She props her sunglasses back on her head again.
‘What you drinking, hon?’ he asks.
Belle remains silent as the waiter approaches him.
‘Beer, please. And another wine for the lady.’
Lady, thinks Belle with an inner smile. If only her friends at school could see her now. Jen wouldn’t believe it. She’s barely posted on Instagram since she’s been away, but she’s wondering if her last day would be a good opportunity to put up a few pictures. The square is so pretty – colourful pop-up market stalls, the buzz of all the street cafés, elegant and stylish locals meandering about in the sunshine.
‘Thank you,’ Belle says to the man, when the waiter places another glass of red wine in front of her. She’s barely touched the first yet.
‘A man can’t leave an attractive woman like you thirsty, now, can he?’
‘No,’ Belle says after a pause. ‘Guess not.’ She picks up her packet of cigarettes and offers him one. He shakes his head and touches his chest. She lights another one for herself.
‘Doc wouldn’t take kindly to me doing that,’ he says. ‘Already survived one heart attack.’
‘God,’ says Belle, blowing out. ‘That’s awful. You don’t look old enough.’
The man laughs and holds out his hand. ‘Ted,’ he says. ‘From Houston.’
‘Belle,’ she says, reciprocating. ‘From England.’ His palm is chunky and sweaty.
‘Good living and bad luck,’ he tells her. ‘Forty-nine when it happened.’
Belle thinks about this. She’d have placed him at forty, perhaps. But then what does she know about people’s ages? And frankly, what does it matter? As she’s constantly reminded herself lately, age is just a number.
She uncrosses her legs and stretches them out, the iridescent body lotion she used earlier shimmering in the sun.
‘You here for work or pleasure?’ Ted asks.
‘Both,’ Belle lies. ‘I’m here with my…fiancé.’ She’s still not used to saying it.
‘Lucky man,’ Ted says. He gulps down a few mouthfuls of beer, half emptying the glass.
‘You?’
‘I’m visiting family, hon. My daughter lives here. She married a…Frenchman.’
Belle doesn’t reply. Rather she mulls over the way he said Frenchman, as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. She offers a glimmer of a smile, staring at him.
‘She’s having a baby.’
‘That’s exciting.’
The man makes a noise in his throat.
‘Listen, my hotel’s around the corner,’ he says. ‘Air conditioning. Room service. Do you want to—’
Belle suddenly stubs out her cigarette and stands up, grabbing her phone. She unlocks it and hands it to the man.
‘Will you take a photo of me?’ she asks, posing with the pretty square behind her.
