Wrong Train to Paris Page 9

“I’ll walk with you,” Luc said. He took his coat from a peg by the door, sliding his hands into the sleeves. “See if there’s anything I can do for the goat.” He took the cake plate from Mathieu and held the door for the older man.

  “Bonne nuit.” Mathieu bowed to the ladies and turned carefully, leaning heavily on his cane as he walked. The little dog followed.

  Luc started to follow but turned. “We will leave before dawn, Juliette. I’ll knock on your door to wake you.”

  She nodded.

  Once Gabi closed the door behind him, Julia sank down onto the bottom step of the staircase. “Oh, Gabi. What have I done?” She rested her elbows on her knees and sank her head onto her arms.

  Fredric wound between her feet.

  “It was an accident, Juliette. You must not feel responsible. You thought to help.”

  “But that poor animal.” Julia spoke without lifting her head. “To think that she’s suffering because of my ignorance.” She turned her head to the side and glanced at Gabi. “The sycamore tree is right beside the gate. How is it that Fleur never ate the bracken fern before?”

  “She would normally avoid any plant with shiny leaves. Animals—they can smell when something is harmful. But when she was tied right beside it and had no other choice—goats do not always make wise decisions.” Gabi gave a partial smile.

  Julia didn’t feel any better. Her small action had such far-reaching consequences and affected both households. “And Luc—he cannot be pleased to spend another day away from his olives because of me, especially after the mess I made in the nursery, and then surprising him in his studio—”

  “You saw his studio?” Gabi asked.

  Julia straightened. She lifted the cat onto her lap, stroking his fur, and nodded, still feeling utterly miserable. “I took out one of the crates from the parlor, for storage.”

  Gabi’s eyes had brightened considerably. “What did you think?”

  “Luc’s paintings are . . . they are completely splendid,” Julia said. “More than splendid. It is—he is . . .” She paused trying to think of words to describe how very remarkable Luc’s talent was. “My father—perhaps you know already—is the Commissaire Expert des Beaux-Arts Anglais. I know art. I’ve seen it, studied it my entire life, so I am not simply flattering.” She turned her knees toward Gabi, setting a hand on the other woman’s arm, wanting her to understand the significance of what she was saying. “Luc is more than simply a person with a talent for drawing and an eye for color. He possesses . . . the je ne sais quoi that separates the artist from the genius. It is not something a person can describe in words, but when one looks at Luc’s paintings”—she glanced at the painting on the wall behind Gabi—“it is felt deep in one’s soul.”

  “Oui,” Gabi whispered, her eyes shining. “I know it.”

  “Luc’s paintings should be on a museum wall,” Julia said. “They should be appreciated, studied, experienced . . . not just set on the ground of his storage shed. They are exceptional.”

  Gabi nodded.

  “He should be among the artists in the Grand Palais, representing France,” Julia said. “But he keeps his work hidden away. Why?”

  “You’ll have to ask him,” Gabi said.

  “I do not think he will tell me.” Julia gave a small shrug, feeling again the weight of the trouble she’d caused. “I imagine he regrets rescuing me from the Rivulet train station.”

  “I am certain that is not so,” Gabi said. “Luc seems rather surly, but he has the most compassionate heart of anyone I know.” One side of her mouth tugged up in a smile. “He just has trouble showing it. I suppose it’s how he protects himself.”

  Julia thought of how he’d ridden all day to send a telegram for a person he’d just met, putting his new seedlings at risk. How he watched over his aunt even though she did not believe she needed it and had brought home a wet stranger who’d gotten onto the wrong train. The idea that his gruff demeanor was simply a mask made sense when compared to his actions. She smiled, turning back to rest her chin in her hands. “But my mistakes these past days would push even the most patient person to the edge of their tolerance.”

  Gabi chuckled and put an arm around Julia’s shoulders. “You are too hard on yourself, ma chérie. You will see; it will all work out. Tomorrow, you and Luc will be back in Riv with the new goat, and Alice will be happy, which will make Mathieu happy.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “And I will have peace with my neighbor again.”

  “And you will keep Coquette,” Julia said.

  “Oui.” Gabi rested her head on Julia’s shoulder. “Merci, Juliette.”

  Julia tipped her head, leaning it on Gabi’s. She felt warm at the woman’s affection, and very loved, in spite of the trouble she’d caused. After today’s disasters, Julia thought she was the last person anyone in Rivulet should be thanking. But Gabi’s words gave her hope. Tomorrow would be better, and she promised herself she’d set everything right, and nobody would regret her visit to Provence.

  The wiggly feeling came back into her stomach.

  Especially not Luc.

  Chapter Ten

  The eastern sky had barely a tinge of purple when Julia followed Luc outside to the farm wagon. Gabi had provided a coat for Julia and packed a basket of food. Standing in the front hall in her nightclothes, she’d explained to Julia in a sleepy voice that there was a valley to the north with goat dairies, but to get there, they would need to go around the mountains. It would be close to noon by the time they arrived.

  Julia climbed onto the wagon’s bench with Luc’s assistance. She secured her handbag on her arm, and as they rode, her eyes grew accustomed to the dim. Time passed, but Julia had no way of knowing how long they had been traveling, since it was still too dark to see either of her timepieces. But at least the road ahead was visible—for the most part. When she glanced to the side, she saw only Luc’s silhouette in the darkness. His communication this morning had consisted of one-word answers and grunts, and she was not certain whether he was tired or annoyed at the inconvenience of another errand taking him away from his work.

  Julia pulled the coat tighter around herself, shivering as a cool breeze hit and wishing she’d brought a blanket to put over her legs. She closed her eyes but did not fall asleep—the wagon’s bench was too hard, the road too bumpy.

  The silence was broken by the occasional noise from the horse and the crunch of the wheels on the gravel road. A few times, they passed a farmhouse in the brightening morning, but Julia still hadn’t seen another person. The silence felt heavy and uncomfortable, and she finally could take it no longer.

  “It’s a lovely sunrise, don’t you think?” She cringed at the inelegance of her statement.

  Luc glanced at her and then toward the pink-and-purple sky. He made an affirmative-sounding grunt.

  Julia wasn’t about to let them lapse back into the awkward silence. “I think we are in for a nice day, don’t you?”

  He grunted again.

  Apparently, Luc was not interested in early-morning conversation. Julia gave it one more attempt. “Do you travel to Greece often, Luc?”

  “No.”

  She sighed, realizing she was destined to spend the entire day sitting beside a person who was determined to ignore her. She considered how she might make the time pass more quickly. Perhaps she could count the trees they passed or play a number game in her head.

  “The trip last week was my first,” Luc said after a long pause.

  Julia started. His voice sounded loud after the quiet. “Oh,” she said, not about to let the conversation dwindle. “And how did you find it?”

  “Hot.”

  Julia could think of no response. The silence returned, and she shifted in her seat, thinking how nice it would feel to sit on a cushion. She watched the sky lighten until at last the sun appeared and the shadows receded as it rose higher. Farmland surroun
ded them, and it seemed everything in Provence was in bloom. Fields of lavender spread over hills like blankets set among the blossoming orchards and vineyards, the flowers filling the air with their fragrance. They were drawing closer to the rocky mountains. Atop one, Julia could see a city built of stone on the rounded peak.

  Luc cleared his throat. He scratched the back of his neck and glanced at her. “I hear l’Exposition Universelle is very . . . ah . . . very impressive.”

  “Yes,” Julia said, feeling a rush of excitement. Her father had prepared for years for the World’s Fair, and his descriptions of its development over the past months had filled her with anticipation. “Did you know they have created an entire Egyptian village where one might ride a camel or take tea in a Bedouin tent?”

  “I did not know that,” Luc said.

  “I hear even the shah of Persia is expected to attend.”

  Luc gave a nod but didn’t seem particularly impressed by the rumor.

  “And, of course, there is an Aztec Temple in the Mexican pavilion,” Julia continued, not allowing his lack of enthusiasm to dampen her own. “Jules Massenet has composed a brand-new opera for the event. My father told me there are miles and miles of displays and exhibits and performers. Even sporting events and carnival rides, if one is interested in that sort of thing, and if one becomes tired from all the walking, an electric moving sidewalk will take you from place to place.” She stopped when her voice ran out of breath, looking at her companion eagerly. Surely one could not help but be thrilled by the aspect of such a spectacle.

  Luc nodded. “It sounds enjoyable.”

  He may have been speaking sarcastically, but if that was the case, she ignored it. She was far too excited. “And the art.” Julia clasped her hands. This was the element of the exhibition for which her father had worked so tirelessly. “A gathering of the greatest works of the greatest artists in the world, all in one place—no museum can compete.”

  Luc seemed even quieter than before.

  “My father said France has the most impressive presentation of all. Meissonier, Manet, Bouguereau . . .” She glanced at Luc, then took a breath. “You belong among them.”

  He scowled. He clicked his tongue at the horse, flicking the reins.

  But he was trapped with her here, on this wagon seat, and she took advantage of his inability to walk away from something he found uncomfortable. “Luc, your art—”

  “Non, Juliette.” His voice was low, but Julia thought it sounded sad rather than angry.

  “I know what I am saying. I’ve traveled with my father since I can remember. He’s taught me to recognize the difference between good and remarkable art. Your paintings . . . Why do you keep such talent hidden away?”

  “I have my reasons.” Luc kept his gaze fixed on the horse.

  “Do you worry that it is not good enough? That some might criticize? There are always those who will find fault.” She turned toward him as much as she could on the wagon seat without losing her balance, wanting to give emphasis to her words. “Luc, you must believe me when I tell you this talent, your talent, is rare, and you should reveal it to the world.”

  “I will not.” His words cracked in the air. This time, his voice was angry, leaving no room for argument.

  Julia sighed, sitting back in the wagon seat. Luc didn’t understand. Or he didn’t trust her judgment. Frustration made her clench her teeth as she thought about how selfish he was being. Both he and Gabi would benefit from the profits if he sold his paintings. She had no doubt that once her father saw Luc’s work, he would speak to his French counterpart and the paintings would receive a place of honor in the Grand Palais des Beaux-Arts. Julia imagined how proud Colonel Weston would be of her discovery. But as soon as she had the thought, a burning guilt stung her throat. She wasn’t simply thinking of her father’s approval but of Luc. The man’s house was in shambles, he’d been forced to sell part of his family’s farm, and the answer to all of his problems was sitting unappreciated in a storage building. She wanted people to know, but even more than that, she wanted Luc to realize that his work was special. The solution was so obviously simple.

  “Shall we see what’s in Gabi’s basket?” Luc asked after a long silence.

  Julia glanced at him. The glower was gone, and for that she was glad. She turned in the seat and reached back toward the basket, wishing there was something to hold on to as she did. Until two days ago, she had never ridden in a farm wagon, and she found the vehicle to be not only uncomfortable but unsafe as well. The seat sat high in the front, with no railing before it and only a low back behind. As she reached, the wagon went over a bump, causing her to lose balance. She grabbed on to Luc’s arm to keep from falling into the wagon bed.

  He pulled on the reins. “Perhaps a picnic is a safer proposition.”

  The pair climbed out of the wagon, and Julia was relieved for a chance to stretch out her legs and back. Her heart still beat rather fast from her near-fall. A glance at her two timepieces showed it was nine o’clock, long past the time for breakfast. She took off her coat, glad the morning had grown warm.

  “Ground’s rocky,” Luc said after glancing around the area. “We can eat in the wagon.” He stepped onto the running board and swung his leg over the side of the wagon. Then he reached down a hand to help Julia to do the same.

  The step was high. She took his hand, held her skirts, and clumsily put her foot on the running board.

  Luc pulled as she stepped up, placing his other hand on her waist to steady her when she almost fell against him, and hauled her over the side of the wagon.

  Julia’s face burned—both at Luc’s closeness and the inelegance of it all. She kept her chin high, trying to look unaffected by his touch, and sat, knees to the side, arranging her skirts around her legs, as she imagined was the proper manner to sit for a picnic in a farm wagon. She pulled out the basket from the shady place beneath the wagon seat.

  Luc sat across from her, resting his back against the side of the wagon, one leg bent, and the other stretched out next to her.

  She took the cloth from the basket and, seeing the abundance of food within, grinned. “Gabi certainly will not allow us to go hungry.” She laid out the cloth on the wagon bed and set out plates, cups, a knife, bread, cheese, a tin of sardines, a bowl of tapenade, a bottle of wine, and the remainder of the yogurt cake.

  Luc’s brow rose, and he shook his head. “She sends only a sandwich when I travel alone.”

  Julia cut a slice of bread and offered it to Luc, then cut one for herself and spread on some cheese. She leaned back against the wagon side and took a bite, the taste of the chèvre reminding her of the reason for the journey. A lump grew in her throat, and it became hard to swallow. “How did you find Fleur last night?” Shame made it difficult to even raise her eyes to Luc’s gaze, but she darted a glance at him.

  He brushed a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “She’s ill. She’ll probably not—”

  “Oh.” Julia covered her mouth, a fresh rush of emotion pushing on her eyes.

  “Nobody blames—” Luc grimaced. “Nobody believes you intended deliberately to harm the animal,” he corrected.

  Julia nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  He bumped her knee with his leg, giving a smile. “It will be well. You’ll see. You’re making things right.”

  Julia nodded. The ache in her throat eased somewhat, but she still felt embarrassed for her dreadful mistake. And something about Luc’s soft smile made the emotions feel even more muddled. She picked at her bread and looked around, hoping to change the subject. Beneath the wagon seat was an umbrella. Julia leaned to the side and lifted it. “I hope this wasn’t here when we rode from the train station.” She forced her voice to sound light.

  Luc swallowed his bread and smirked. “Do you think I wouldn’t have mentioned it when you were so wet?”

  She shrugged. �
�I don’t know if I’d put it past you.”

  “Gabi sent it today.” He nodded toward the umbrella. “Said it will rain this afternoon.”

  Julia looked up at the clear sky. “Surely not.”

  “I’d never bet against Gabi when it comes to predicting the weather.” Luc wrapped the bread and put it back into the basket.

  Following suit, Julia helped him pack away the rest of the food. “But there’s not one cloud in the entire sky.”

  “Gabi’s knees ache when a storm’s on the way,” Luc said. He swung himself over the side of the wagon and landed on the ground.

  Julia tucked the basket back beneath the seat with her coat. She stood, brushing crumbs from her skirt, and debated for a moment whether it would be easier to climb over the back of the wagon seat or to jump down to the ground and climb back up. Though both options seemed equally graceless, she chose the latter. She lifted one leg over the side of the wagon, turned around, and eased downward. The running board was lower than she’d estimated, and her other leg slipped as she tried to get her footing.

  Luc caught her around the waist, holding her up as she swung over the other leg.

  Her back brushed against his chest, and she felt his breath on her cheek as he set her down on the ground.

  She turned, and her hands settled on his chest as she caught her balance. She looked up to thank him, but his eyes caught hers, and her words froze in her mouth.

  Luc’s hands stilled on her waist, and for an instant, she was enveloped in his arms. His eyes softened, and his gaze flicked to her lips.

  Fluttering threatened to tear apart Julia’s stomach, and at once, panic stole her thoughts. She pulled away, mumbling a thanks to Luc for his assistance, and climbed up into the seat at the front of the wagon with shaking hands. Her cheeks burned, but this time, the heat wasn’t caused by embarrassment from her near-fall. She could feel exactly where Luc had touched her, even though it had been for merely an instant. Her breath was light and her pulse heavy as she settled into the seat. And when Luc climbed up, she was unusually aware of how close he sat beside her. The air between them felt tense and alive, as if it were somehow filled with Mr. Edison’s electricity. Luc flicked the reins, and his arm came dangerously close to brushing hers. Her skin tingled with goose pimples at the thought.